


What I Have Left

by Imforeverblowingbubbles



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Artist Steve Rogers, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Broken Bucky Barnes, Bruce Banner Needs a Hug, Bucky Killed Steve's Cactus, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Domestic Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Fluff and Angst, I Drew A Picture, Love Confessions, M/M, Minor Bruce Banner/Natasha Romanov, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, My First Fanfic, Past Sharon Carter/Steve Rogers, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Wanda Maximoff/Vision, Protective Steve Rogers, Science Bros, Slow Build, Therapist Sam Wilson, Thor Is Not Stupid, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Wait For The Porn, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, World War II, mostly canon compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-01 23:44:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 54,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5225744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imforeverblowingbubbles/pseuds/Imforeverblowingbubbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"Bucky?"</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <em> "Steve? I'm tired of running." </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Steve Rogers woke up in a new century with old wounds. Captain America might be the shining idealist and exemplar of patriotism, but Steve isn't sure what that means in a world that's forgotten the war he lived. Lonely and adrift, Steve has grown bitter while Captain America remained a hero.</p>
<p>Bucky Barnes was dragged out of Hell by his best friend, a Hell within his own mind. But after two years of running, he can't do it anymore. He wants to find a place in the world that isn't carved out of bone. He wants Steve.</p>
<p>So what will happen when two broken soldiers reunite? Love, of course. How could there not be love? But also pain. And maybe even hope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Reunited

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first real fic. A friend requested some Stucky fluff and, bored nearly out of my skull, I agreed. 30,000+ words later, I have no idea how this story has spiraled so far out of my control. This was supposed to be short and cute. It is neither of those things, so be forewarned.  
> While I tried to make it canon compliant as far as possible, it diverges from the MCU story-line pretty much right after the battle with Ultron. Let's pretend nobody left the Avengers or retired or went off the Asgard to address the mysterious visions of Ragnarok. Everybody is happy and Avenging away. Except I wrote this, so no one is happy. Ever. Enjoy and please review!
> 
>  
> 
> Chapter Notes:  
> Not gonna lie. Chapter 1 is pretty overdramatic. There's a lot of crying, but I think that's pretty reasonable given what these guys have been through.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Steve had just spent three long, grueling weeks on a mission with the new recruits and he wanted nothing so much as to curl up in his bed and sleep. He’d even forgo the shower, something he normally would have been longing for like a lover after such an assignment, if only so as to see his mattress that much sooner. He slogged up the stairs to his apartment, lugging the duffle bag on one shoulder and dragging his feet like a grumpy toddler, all in the name of reaching the softness of his pillow. But that exhaustion was forgotten the moment he opened the door._   
>  _The duffle hit the floor with a thud. “Bucky?” he whispered. Or he tried anyway. The words wouldn’t seem to come out past the lump in his throat._   
>  _The shadowed form shifted, light glancing again off the metal arm. “Steve?” the voice was terrified. And so familiar. “Steve, I’m tired of running.”_

**Reunited**

 

 

            Steve had just spent three long, grueling weeks on a mission with the new recruits and he wanted nothing so much as to curl up in his bed and sleep. He’d even forgo the shower, something he normally would have been longing for like a lover after such an assignment, if only so as to see his mattress that much sooner. He slogged up the stairs to his apartment, lugging the duffle bag on one shoulder and dragging his feet like a grumpy toddler, all in the name of reaching the softness of his pillow. But that exhaustion was forgotten the moment he opened the door.

            The duffle hit the floor with a thud. “Bucky?” he whispered. Or he tried anyway. The word wouldn’t seem to come out past the lump in his throat.

            The shadowed form shifted, light glancing again off the metal arm. “Steve?” the voice was terrified. And so familiar. “Steve, I’m tired of running.”

            “Bucky?” he tried again, “What are you doing here?”

            “I’m sorry. I just…I remembered you.” That was it. Those three words sent Steve crumpling to his knees, a choked sob ripping its way out of his chest. They’d dredged half the Potomac after the helicarriers fell, looking to recover whatever they could of the Hydra plot. The government—and some less official entities—had garnered a good deal of technology and information, but there had been no body discovered matching the Winter Soldier’s description. Still, Steve had often wondered in his darker moments if his oldest friend might simply have been washed too far down the river to be recovered. Even when he hadn’t thought the Winter Soldier dead, he’d wondered exactly how much of Bucky was left in there. And yet…here he was in Steve’s tiny, dim apartment. “I couldn’t stay away anymore. I’m tired of running.”

            “Yeah,” Steve agreed, staring up at the shadowed form, “You said.”

            “I…do you want me to go? I shouldn’t have come in the first place…”

            Alarmed, the supersoldier shot to his feet and held out a hand to stop his visitor from retreating. “No,” he begged, “God, no. Bucky, don’t you dare go _anywhere_. Just…just let me turn on a light, ok?” He waited for the reluctant nod before moving, afraid that sudden action might startle Bucky away.

            He looked…God in Heaven, he looked terrible. The blue eyes, always so alive with intelligence, were fever-bright and flicked all over the room like a frightened animal. His hair had grown even longer than when Steve last saw him and, from the look of his stubble, he’d been shaving with the hunting knife strapped to his belt. He was even thinner than he had been when Steve pulled him out of the prison camp during the war, every muscle and vein standing out clearly under the grayish skin. Steve must have made some small, involuntary sound of anguish because Bucky was suddenly very focused on him, backing away nervously. “I shouldn’t have come,” he kept whispering over and over.

            “Is it really you?” Cap whispered, his jaw working.

            “I remember everything,” Bucky confirmed, still backing away, “I remember everything and I shouldn’t have come.”

            “Oh my God,” Steve whispered, tears suddenly filling his eyes, “Oh my God, Bucky, don’t go. _Please_ don’t go.”

            That tone in Steve’s voice rooted Bucky to the floor. He’d never been able to turn away when Steve sounded like that. Not before the war, not in the days of the Howling Commandos, not even when he didn’t remember who he was and he was trying frantically to beat his best friend to death. “I’m sorry,” he choked, “Oh, God, Steve…” Steve lunged across the floor to catch him as his knees buckled.

            “It _is_ you,” Steve murmured, pressing Bucky’s head against his chest as they both sank to the floor, arms around one another. “I can’t believe it. I thought you were dead for so long…”

            “I wish I was.” The quiet statement sent ice coursing through Steve’s heart, like he was about to spend another seventy years frozen.

            He pulled back to stare at Bucky’s face. “What?”

            Those eyes…they were still so bright. So haunted. “I remember everything,” he said again, “I remember what I did…I remember all the people I hurt…the people I killed…I killed Howard Stark. Did you know that? You’re friends with his son and I killed him. He’s the man who helped you save me when Hydra had me the first time and…I killed his wife, too. Just because she was there. I’ve been doing Hydra’s dirty work for seventy years, Steve. I can remember every scream, every last word.” He took a deep, shuddering breath, his eyes flickering closed. “I wish I was dead.”

            Steve didn’t say anything for several long seconds. “It wasn’t you.”

            The metal hand unclenched itself from Steve’s shirt and came up to waver in front of his eyes. “This is the hand that crushed the life out of Maria Stark. She was screaming too loud and I was worried someone would come along and find the car, so I choked her to death before I set it on fire. Don’t tell me it wasn’t me, Steve.”

            Steve tangled his hands in Bucky’s hair, shaking him ever so gently. “You listen to me, Bucky Barnes, and you listen good. Hydra took you. They took you off that mountain and they did things to you that would have killed anyone else. They stripped away everything that made you Bucky and put the Winter Soldier in your place. This hand…” He let go of Bucky’s hair for a moment to twine his fingers with the metal ones. “This hand was _his_. Now it’s yours. Just because you can remember what he did with it doesn’t mean you were the one to do it, you hear? They turned you into a weapon. It’s not a gun’s fault who it shoots and it’s not _your_ fault, either.”

            Bucky’s face crumpled and Steve pulled him back against him, rocking back and forth as the other man started to cry. “I’m a monster,” he sobbed.

            “No you are _not_ ,” Steve told him fiercely, “You are James Buchanan Barnes, you son of a bitch. And you’re all I’ve got left. You and that fucking shield are all I’ve got from before the ice, Buck.” They both sat on the ratty carpet for a long while, crying. Eventually Bucky’s sobs subsided to hiccups and Steve sat back, smiling weakly at him. “I forgot you used to do that,” he sighed, wiping his face with a trembling hand, “You hardly ever cried, and I was always so surprised when you’d start in with the squeaking.”

            “I cried more than you did, you damn punk,” Bucky said, falling for a moment back into old patterns, “You could take a beating and _I_ was the one broken up about it.”

            “What are friends for?” Steve asked, reaching into his pocket.

            Bucky tensed at the gesture, once again looking like a scared animal. “What are you doing?”

            Steve put his other hand comfortingly on his friend’s shoulder. “Just getting my phone. I need to call a friend.”

            “Who?” Bucky whispered, drawing his knees up to his chest in a peculiarly child-like gesture.

            “Someone who might know a little bit about what you’re going through. We can go visit him tomorrow, if you’re up for it.”

            “I can’t exactly take a bus, Steve,” he pointed out, “Metal-armed men are in short supply these days, and you don’t have a car.”

            Steve waved him off. “We can hitch a ride from Tony. He owes me, anyway.” Bucky seemed to flinch at Stark’s name but he didn’t say anything as Steve punched in the number. “Barton?” Cap asked into the phone, “I need to ask you something…”


	2. Apologies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Bucky stared at him for a few seconds before turning back to Stark, his eyes determined. “I killed him. Your parents’ car accident…It wasn’t an accident. Hydra sent me after them.”_   
>  _All three of them froze for nearly a full minute before Tony blew out a long breath. “Shit.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 is another short one, but they get longer from here on in. This one really just serves as something of a bridge, so bear with me.

**Apologies**

                                                                                               

            It honestly took Steve by surprise just how little flack he got from the other Avengers about Bucky’s return. He’d expected demands that his old friend be locked up and observed, interrogated, or at the very least brought to Fury before Cap would be allowed to take him anywhere. Instead there had simply been a brief conversation with Clint asking if he could bring Bucky out to the farm and a much longer talk with Natasha requesting that she inform the rest of the team and try to get Rogers at least a few days of privacy. Reluctant to talk to Stark himself after the revelation of what Bucky…no, _the Winter Soldier_ had done to his parents, Steve asked Natasha to handle their travel arrangements as well. He’d gotten texts from each of his teammates—minus Thor, of course, who was off doing who knew what who knew where—expressing their concern about what he was doing but letting him know that they trusted his judgment. Except for Tony, unfortunately, who had decided to opt for something a bit more invasive by flying them out to Barton’s farm himself.

            “What are you doing here, Tony?” Steve had hissed when he saw who their pilot was to be. Bucky, now dressed in a sweater and jeans—the one sleeved look having been a tad conspicuous—shrank back at the sight of the other man.

            “I wanted to meet your old pal,” Tony said, oblivious as always to his own abysmal timing. He leaned around Steve to peer at Bucky curiously. “So you’re Barnes, huh? I’m Tony Stark. Glad to see you slipped the Hydra reprogramming, man.”

            “I know who you are,” Bucky replied simply, hovering uncertainly a few feet behind Steve.

            “Ooh,” Tony purred, delighted, “So my reputation precedes me? I love it when it does that. Always makes parties so much more fun.”

            “Not exactly. Your father… I…” Bucky began, but Steve cut him off.

            “He knew your dad back in the old days, same as me.”

            Bucky stared at him for a few seconds before turning back to Stark, his eyes determined. “I killed him. Your parents’ car accident…It wasn’t an accident. Hydra sent me after them.”

            All three of them froze for nearly a full minute before Tony blew out a long breath. “Shit.”

            Bucky closed his eyes, looking like he might be sick. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, “I didn’t know who I was. I didn’t know who _they_ were, just that I was supposed to kill them. I didn’t realize until I woke up… I’m so sorry.”

            “No, man,” Tony protested, “ _I’m_ sorry. They were my parents, yeah, but that was a _long_ time ago. I’ve been pretty sure it was a Hydra hit since Cap told me about my dad’s work during the war. But…jeeze, you just woke up and found out you’d been brainwashed into killing an old friend. That…Christ, you don’t have to apologize to me.”

            Barnes sat down hard, like his legs couldn’t hold his weight anymore, and sank his head into his hands. Stark looked from him back to Cap, concern on his face. “Did I…did I say something wrong?” he asked.

            Steve shook his head wordlessly, too overcome with gratitude to do more than pat Stark awkwardly on the shoulder before he moved to sit next to Bucky, wrapping one arm around him. It was a long, silent flight to the farm, but Bucky eventually fell asleep curled up in his seat and Steve was content to watch him, still marveling at the fact that his best friend had now effectively come back from the dead not once but twice. The muttering worried him, as did the twitching, but it was all in a mix of Russian, Japanese, and something else he couldn’t identify, so he had no idea what Bucky was actually saying. Maybe he’d ask Natasha when he got the chance.

            They touched down in the middle of Clint’s field, a purple-clad figure just barely visible standing on the porch, waiting for them. “Look, Barnes,” Tony said, walking beside them to the bay-door, “I just want to say…I’m glad you’re back. And whatever happened in the past, it’s in the past. I mean, I was an _arms dealer_ for most of my adult life. I’m responsible for a hell of a lot more deaths than you are, and _I_ wasn’t brainwashed into it. So…don’t beat yourself up on my account, alright?”

            Bucky nodded, still looking fairly unconvinced. “Why don’t you go ahead?” Steve suggested. His friend seemed reluctant to leave his side but he walked down the gangway and stood on the grass, looking around warily. “Tony,” Steve said quietly, “ _Thank you_.”

            Stark looked up at him, frowning in thought. “I just…he’s still pretty fucked up, isn’t he?”

            “Yeah. It’s like…I saw a lot of shell-shock in my day but this is…this is worse.”

            “You think Barton’s gonna be able to help him?” Tony asked seriously.

            “I figure after what Clint went through with Loki, he’s the closest any of us can get to knowing what Buck’s going through. And he’s a lot better with this kind of stuff than most of us.”

            “Yeah,” Tony agreed, his lip curling slightly in distaste, “ _Feelings_. I couldn’t even make it through charity events without having a flashback after New York. Barton held down a farm, a family, and a job with S.H.I.E.L.D. even after getting his noggin scrambled by the god of daddy issues.”

            Cap grinned. “Exactly.”

            “Well, you’d better get going then.”

            Steve was about to leave, but he hesitated, looking at the shorter man. “I...Tony…” He quickly crushed Stark into a hug. “Thank you so much. For what you said to him, I mean.”

            Tony stumbled when Cap let him go, reddening. “…Sure. Any time.”

            “That was awkward,” Steve admitted, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably.

            “Yeah, let’s never do that again.” Again Cap turned to go but this time it was Stark who stopped him. “Hey, Rogers, I meant what I said. You’re the only one of us with a past you can be proud of, so I’m sure as Hell not gonna judge him for something he had no control over.”

            “I’ll tell him that,” Steve said, offering his teammate a grin.

            Bucky was still waiting for him on the grass when he emerged, squinting against the sunlight. “You brought me to a _farm_?” he asked, confusion plain.

            “I said I was going to,” Steve protested.

            “Yeah, but when you said we were going to ‘Barton’s farm,’ I figured that was some kind of a euphemism for a debriefing facility or something. This is…this is a _farm._ There are actual goats over there.”

            Cap quirked a small smile. “That or it’s just a very cleverly disguised, top-secret facility made to _look_ like a farm. Those could very well just be holographic goats. Or even robot goats that’ll shoot lasers out of their eyes and vaporize us if we step too far off the designated paths.”

            Bucky just gave him a flat look. “Seventy years and you’re still not funny.”

            “I have been—and always shall be— _hilarious_.” Buck didn’t seem to get the reference. “It’s ok, we can catch you up on Star Trek later.” Steve paused for a moment. _Oh, Lord, I’m starting to sound like Tony._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's right. Steve likes Star Trek. Fight me on this, I dare you.


	3. New Friends, Old Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Speaking of ice,” Clint prompted, jerking his chin at Barnes, “You gonna introduce us?”_   
>  _“Nice segue, Birdbrain,” Bucky growled, meeting the other man’s eyes at last, “Being in cryo-stasis isn’t nearly as fun as it sounds.”_   
>  _“Awww, did somebody get freezer burn?” Clint asked, batting his eyelashes._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's quite a bit longer, and it introduces my personal favorite minor character: CLINT BIRDMAN BARTON! Love him. Cherish him. Provide him with seed and other bird treats.  
> I also tried to dig into more of how the boys feel about their respective pasts. Winter Soldier very much made me feel as though Steve had begun to lose sight of what it meant to be Captain America, and Age of Ultron compounded that for me. He feels lost in the modern world ideologically much more than technologically. I wanted to show that. I wanted get past the Captain America mask of pure idealism that he puts up for the world and explore Steve's own growing bitterness. Bucky, on the other hand, is pretty much a big ball of rage and loss. He's had everything taken from him and all he wants is to go back to being Bucky and Steve, not the Winter Soldier and Captain America. It's all very sad and angst-filled.

** New Friends, Old Friends **

 

            An arrow thumped into the ground in front of Steve’s feet, startling Bucky into a crouch, his hand grasping for a gun he didn’t carry. “Buck,” Steve said, bending down to look his friend in the eyes, “Buck, it’s ok.”

            “What the heck was that, Steve?” the former assassin hissed through gritted teeth.

            “That’s just…well, I guess it’s just Clint saying hello.”

            “Come on, you two!” came the distant shout from Barton, “Lunch is gonna burn if I have to stand out here waiting any longer!”

            “He’s cooking,” Steve mused, pulling Bucky gently back to his full height, “I didn’t know Barton could cook.”

            “I used to make food too,” Barnes muttered, “That didn’t mean I could actually cook. You were always the one with the culinary talents.”

            “You remember that?” Steve asked with a laugh, walking easily beside his friend across the field.

            Bucky grinned despite himself. “Hell, I remember that roast you made the night before I shipped out. You never would tell me where you got the money for it.”

            “I cleaned out the attic for Mrs. O’Reilly,” Steve admitted, “She gave me five dollars for the job.”

            The smile fell, replaced by the same old, worried scowl. “With your asthma? Christ, Steve, you trying to get yourself killed?”

            “Aw, come on, Buck. I did fine.” He elbowed the shorter man gently. “And I’m pretty sure that was the last good meal you had for a long time.”

            “Ugh,” Bucky groaned longingly, “That was the last good meal I think I had…God, probably ever” Steve stumbled to a halt, making his friend turn to look at him inquisitively. “What?”

            “Nothing,” Steve said, shaking his head and starting to walk again, “I just…I forgot. I’ve had time since they thawed me out to adjust. To settle down a little. You…you never really made it out, did you?”

            Bucky shrugged uncomfortably. “I mean, I’ve been on the run from you for most of two years, so it’s not like I’m exactly still in the place I was during the war. It’s…you know…I’ve pretty much gotten used to the modern world. But it’s not like I’ve had anything like a steady home in all that time. I can’t cook and sit-down meals seemed like a great way to get noticed by a waiter or something. So it’s mostly been take-out since I woke up, or just whatever I could scrounge.”

            Steve seemed to consider for a moment, following Bucky up to the porch stairs. “Hey, Clint,” he said, looking up at where his fellow Avenger lounged against the railing, “Can I cook tonight?”

            Barton grinned. “Hello to you too, Rogers. And hell yeah, you can cook tonight. I sent Laura and the kids to her mom’s place for the week so, unless you want to eat nothing but red meat and macaroni and cheese while you’re here, you’d _better_ freaking cook.” Bucky ducked his head when he noticed the other man watching him.

            “You got any steaks in the freezer?” Steve asked with a mischievous smile. Hawkeye nodded. “Any chili peppers lying around?” A shrug.

            “ _Don’t you dare make that damn spicy beef again, Rogers,_ ” Bucky hissed all in a rush, his head down but his eyes alight, “You almost burned my tongue off the last time.”

            “The meat was half-bad last time,” Steve chuckled, “I had to make it that spicy so we couldn’t taste the actual steak.”

            “Shouldn’t you specialize in apple pie and hamburgers?” Clint asked, vaulting lightly over the rail to land next to them. Bucky flinched away, but he didn’t seem to notice.

            “I may be Captain _America_ ,” Steve said primly, “But I’ll have you remember that this is and always has been a very multicultural nation. I also make a killer stir-fry and my Spaghetti Bolognese is to die for.”

            “You learned to make Spaghetti Bolognese in the Depression?”

            “Why does everyone just assume that I stopped acquiring new skills when I went into the ice?” Steve asked, throwing up his hands in defeat.

            “Speaking of ice,” Clint prompted, jerking his chin at Barnes, “You gonna introduce us?”

            “Nice segue, Birdbrain,” Bucky growled, meeting the other man’s eyes at last, “Being in cryo-stasis isn’t nearly as fun as it sounds.”

            “Awww, did somebody get freezer burn?” Clint asked, batting his eyelashes.

            “ _Barton_ ,” Steve growled, stepping between the two of them, “That’s enough.”

            Clint blinked up at him, plainly unimpressed. “That jaw thing doesn’t work on me, Stevie. I’ve worked for Fury for too long to be intimidated by anyone who isn’t Natasha or my wife. And besides…” He leaned around Rogers to make eye-contact with Bucky. “You don’t want to be coddled, do you, Barnes?”

            Steve turned his head to see a wry smile cross his friend’s face. “Not especially, Barton.”

            “Great, then come on in. And you can call me Clint.” He stuck out his hand, reaching around Steve to do so.

            “James,” Bucky said, shaking the proffered hand, “James Buchanan Barnes.”

            Hawkeye whistled, though he’d already turned to go into the house. “Buchanan? How much did your parents have to hate you to name you that, James?”

            “Says the guy named Clint?” Steve didn’t even have to lead the way for Bucky to follow Barton in. “That’s not a name. It’s barely a syllable.”

***

            It was eight hours later and Steve was just about ready to turn in. He’d made dinner—appropriately _non_ -spicy for Bucky’s welcome back feast—and watched discreetly while the other two men did the dishes and talked. “So what do you think?” he’d asked Clint after Bucky retreated upstairs, yawning.

            “I think he’s fucked up,” Clint said honestly, tossing the dishrag over his shoulder and leaning against the counter, “I think he’s spent two years remembering who he used to be but he’s still got no idea who he is.”

            “Yeah,” Steve agreed, running a hand through his hair, “Yeah, that’s what I figured too.”

            “Look, Steve, I really don’t know how much help I’m gonna be here. After Loki…you know…afterwards, I was totally screwed up. I mean, I killed friends of mine. But I never remembered most of it, and it was only a few days. James has been under for _decades_. And Loki never tortured me or wiped my memories. Barnes wasn’t being mind-controlled, he was brainwashed.”

            “I don’t get what you’re saying,” Steve told him, shaking his head.

            “The way I see it, neither one of us had a choice. But if I felt guilty over something I was forced to do by a magical scepter, you can bet he’s going to feel a hell of a lot worse over something he was forced to do by circumstances.”

            “So what do I do?” Cap sounded miserable and Clint could only shrug.

            “Not much you _can_ do. Be there for him, but don’t go coddling him. The last thing he needs to feel right now is pathetic. If you make him feel weak it’s just another way of taking away his choice. Honestly, from everything I know about the guy and from talking to him, he’s probably got PTSD just from all the shit you two did in the war, on top of what Hydra did. Maybe you should’ve called Wilson.”

            Steve blew out a harsh little breath through his nose, something that could almost have been construed as a chuckle. “Sam or Wade?”

            “Oh, hell no. No one is ever going to recommend calling in Deadpool on something like this. You got a building you want blown up or a dictator assassinated, the Merc’s your man. Beyond that, not so much.”

            Rogers frowned. “Come on, Wade might be a bit of a loose cannon, but—”

            “A _bit_?” Clint laughed, “He’s totally out of his mind. You’ve gotta stop picking up strays, Cap.”

            Steve frowned harder. “Eighty years ago, I _was_ the stray. The man who saved me is upstairs and I need to help him.”

            “It’s not gonna be easy,” Clint remarked, boosting himself up to sit on the counter, “But I think maybe bringing him out here was the right choice. It’s the middle of nowhere. Probably the farthest you could get from what he’s seen and done since he got lost.” Steve nodded, biting the inside of his cheek in thought. “Have you really, you know, _talked_ to him yet?” Barton asked.

            “Not really. I don’t even know where he’s been for two years. We just…he didn’t seem like he wanted to talk last night and he slept on the flight here.”

            “Maybe you should go on up, then.”

            “Do you—”

            Clint cut him off. “Look, Steve, I get that you’re pushing a hundred on the calendar. But you’re really only, what? Twenty-nine?”

            “Twenty-seven or so.”

            “Right. And Barnes isn’t really much older. You might be old enough to be my grandfather, but I’m almost old enough to be your dad. You’re just a couple of kids, Steve, and none of this has been fair to you. You saw a lot of the down and dirty stuff, but you never made it to the point where you have to start pulling people back. It’s messy and it’s hard even when it’s just regular people. You’re children of war. Peace isn’t any easier.”

            Steve looked at his teammate, something deep inside him softening. _I’m just a kid from Brooklyn._ It had been his mantra, but he hadn’t _felt_ young in a long time. Naïve, helpless, even woefully unprepared. But never young. No one had treated him like a young man in this new world. They’d expected him to live up to the legend. To be the implacable face of a generation that lived on in little more than grainy black and white photos. And here was Clint acknowledging that maybe Steve was in over his head. “Thanks,” he said hoarsely.

            The stairs creaked under Steve’s feet as he ascended slowly, taking the time to examine every picture the Clint and his wife had taken the time to hang. They were mostly family photos and mementos: wedding pictures showing Clint a decade younger and a good deal less care-worn, pictures of perfectly swaddled newborns with screwed up little faces, children’s crayon drawings, a photo of Clint at the beach with his son on his shoulders. Steve smiled sadly at each of them, wondering if this was the sort of home he’d have had in a different world. The sort of home Bucky would have swung by on the weekends, maybe with a wife and a few kids with dark hair and dimpled chins in tow. They’d have sat around in the yard watching the children play, reminiscing about the days before the war. They would have gotten old like they were supposed to, with people who knew what it was like. He was in tears by the time he knocked on the door to Bucky’s room.

            “You too?” Bucky asked, opening the door and wiping his eyes.

            “Can I…Can I come in?” Steve whispered, his eyes lighting on a stuffed animal one of Clint’s kids must have forgotten when playing in the guest room.

            “Yeah.” Bucky stepped aside, letting Steve brush past him. “So what was it that got you?”

            “The pictures,” Steve admitted, picking up the toy. It was a rabbit, with floppy ears and buttons for eyes. Looked like something Clint’s wife had probably made for their little girl. “You?”

            “That thing,” he said, pointing a finger at the bunny, “I knew he had kids, but…”

            “Yeah. It’s a little different knowing and _knowing_.” A thought struck Steve and he smiled through his tears. “You said you didn’t even _like_ kids, you know.”

            Bucky sat down on the bed, staring at his hands. “Yeah, I remember. But I don’t think I really meant it. ‘Sides, it wasn’t _my_ kids I’m crying about.”

            “Whose?” Steve asked, sitting down next to him.

            Barnes shrugged. “Some I killed. Some I just orphaned. Even some of the ones we saved, back in the day. Mostly yours though, if I’m being honest. Yours and Peggy’s.”

            Steve grinned. “Peggy _had_ kids. I met them both at her funeral. _And_ her grandkids. Hell, one of them was my neighbor for a while, though I didn’t find out ‘til later. It may not have been with _me_ , but she had one hell of a life, Buck.”

            He felt his old friend stiffen and heard as he let out a pained breath. “She’s… She’s dead? I checked up on her a couple of weeks after the helicarrier and I heard she was in a nursing home.”

            “Yeah,” Steve said with a sigh, “She died not too long after that. Real peaceful. I made sure she never found out about the Hydra infiltration.”

            Bucky turned to meet his eyes. “Were you there?”

            Steve shook his head. “No. But I’d seen her a couple days before, right when I got out of the hospital. Told her you were alive and I was going to look for you. Oh, you should have seen her face, Buck. She wasn’t always lucid at the end but she knew just what I was talking about that time, and you shoulda seen her light up.”

            That earned him half a snorted laugh. “Never thought she liked me that much.”

            “Nah, she just put on a good show. And besides…” He paused before continuing somewhat awkwardly. “Besides, she knew what you meant to me.”

            Bucky broke the eye-contact and went back to staring at his metal hand. “Yeah, well, what-I-meant-to-you damn near got you killed a time or two.”

            “Hey,” Steve protested, catching the metal hand between both of his, “It’s also what saved my life a lot more times than that.”

            It almost made Bucky smile, seeing that same fire in Steve’s eyes that he remembered from years of pulling his friend out of fights. “True enough.”

            “You know about the Commandos, right?” Steve asked, letting go, “They all made it home safe. I’ve met most of _their_ kids, too.”

            “Christ, are you telling me Frenchie convinced a woman to tolerate him long enough to procreate?” Bucky snorted.

            Steve chuckled, turning a bit pink around the ears. “Turns out that wasn’t really his…ah, _area of interest_.”

            “You’re _kidding_ ,” Bucky protested, “ _Frenchie?_ A poof? The guy had the biggest collection of dirty photos on base.”

            Steve shrugged. “Looks like he may have been compensating for something.”

            “Suppose that explains his fascination with blowing things up…if you catch my drift,” Bucky said with a snicker.

            “ _Bucky_ ,” Steve choked, scandalized.

            “Oh come on, Stevie,” Bucky teased, “You know as well as I do, that kind of thing’s perfectly fine these days. I may have been in hiding, but I could hardly miss _that_ development. Don’t tell me it makes you uncomfortable.”

            “No more than that kind of comment about any other sort of couple would.”

            “Oh that’s right,” Barnes laughed, “What was it Howard told me? Something to do with fondue?”

            “That son of a bitch!” Steve gasped, reddening properly this time, “I’d ring his damn neck if…”

            “If I hadn’t done it already?” Bucky suggested, raising an eyebrow. Steve sobered instantly. “Oh come on, that was funny.” But the far off look in Bucky’s eyes didn’t say amused. It said hollow.

            “Do you want to talk about it?” Steve asked hesitantly. There was nothing in the world he wanted less than to sit on that bed and listen to Bucky recount all the trauma he’d been put to and all the atrocities he’d been forced to commit. Steve knew it would rip holes in him. He also knew that he would do it in a heartbeat if Bucky thought it might help him.

            “No.” The refusal was quick and sharp.

            “You know that if you ever do…” He couldn’t help trailing off.     

            “If I ever need to talk about it, I’m not going to do it with you. Not ever, Steve.”

            “Why?”

            “Because,” Bucky said with a shudder, “Because you’re too good. Even… _especially_ now. You woke up in a world that would have let you indulge in any desire. Booze, sex, drugs, power. You could have had _anything_ , Steve. And you stayed a fucking superhero. It’d be like telling _God_ all my sins. But with more damned pity.”

            “Bucky…I…” He stopped, took a deep breath, and stood up to leave. “Alright. Maybe it’d be better if you spent a few days with Clint without me. I mean, is that what you…”

            The other man shot Steve a slightly panicked look. “No, no. God, Jesus fucking Christ, Steve, no. I don’t mean I want you to _leave_. I just…” He paused for a moment, closing his eyes and looking like he might be sick. “Please don’t go.”

            Steve sat back down on the bed instantly, recognizing how much effort it had taken for Bucky to ask for that. “Hey,” he said quietly, “Hey, if you don’t want me to go anywhere, I won’t. Just…tell me what you need.”

            Bucky’s fists clenched in his lap and his shoulders slumped forward, his hair having fallen to hide his face. “I don’t know, Steve. Just don’t go anywhere.” They sat in silence for a few minutes as Bucky seemed to dredge up the strength to continue. “You said…you said that I’m all you have left. The shield and me. Well…look, Steve, I might not want to talk to you about what…what they did to me, but you’re what pulled me out. Just you. I don’t want to mix that with…with _you_ , in my head. You’ve got more than just me and the shield, Steve. You’ve got who you are. You’ve got Captain America, and Steve Rogers, and…hell, you’ve got your own damn body. Sure, it’s different than before the serum, but you still have all your own pieces. I woke up and…I don’t look like me, Steve. I don’t even have my own fucking arm.” He shook the metal hand angrily, by way of demonstration. “I don’t know who or what I am anymore. You’re…you’re literally the only thing that isn’t different. So just…just don’t go.”

            Steve sat stock still, shocked into silence for a long minute. “Is this why you introduced yourself as James? You used to hate it when people called you that. Said it sounded like your ma scolding you.”

            Barnes shrugged. “I guess so, yeah. I’m not really Bucky anymore, am I? He died in the mountains and the Winter Soldier died in the Potomac. Neither one of those skins fits anymore. I figure I gotta grow a new one.”

            “So…” Steve hesitated. “Should I call you James from now on?” It felt strange, rolling off his tongue with an uncomfortable plop.

            “No. It’s…it’s different. You _knew_ me when I was Bucky. Maybe I’m not really him anymore, but…it’s like I still am with you. Like you haven’t changed, so maybe I haven’t either.”

            “Ok,” Steve agreed, nodding, “Ok, Buck. But…you’ve gotta know. I’ve changed, Bucky. Maybe not as much, but I’m not like I was before…before you died.”

            His friend fixed him with a glare that had all the ice of the Winter Soldier and all the anger of Bucky Barnes. “You flew a plane into the frozen ocean, Steven,” he growled, “ _Don’t_ think I’ve forgotten about that one.” Steve gulped, but his face shifted from fear to concern as Bucky slowly slumped, curling in on himself. “What would have happened if you’d died, Steve? Or if they’d never found you? I’d still be with Hydra. I still wouldn’t be me. You probably wouldn’t have been around anymore to pull me out, anyway, but I can’t stop thinking maybe…maybe you’d have found me before they put me under.”

            “I kept thinking the same thing,” Steve admitted, “Kept thinking, _If you hadn’t crashed the damn plane… If you’d just tried to land the stupid thing…_ Maybe I’d have found you. Maybe Peggy and I could have started S.H.I.E.L.D. _together_. Made it something Hydra couldn’t infiltrate.”

            “But…I mean, I know what you did in New York. You _saved the_ _world_ , damn it. You couldn’t have done that if you hadn’t gone in the ice.”

            “We thought we were saving the world back then, too,” Steve said bitterly, “We called it the war to end all wars. They said that about the one before it, too. Turns out all we did was blur the lines. They’ve still got wars, Buck. The other guys just don’t always wear a uniform or fly a flag. Nothing’s simple anymore. Maybe the world doesn’t need a simple kind of hero.”

            Bucky looked up sharply. “Of course it does. Look, Steve, you’ve never been that kind of lost. You always knew which way was North, but some of us needed help. Some of us needed a star-spangled son of a bitch pointing the way. When everything gets grey, a little red, white, and blue is exactly what people need, Steve.”

            “Aren’t I just selling them a lie that way? Pretending like I know what’s right? I don’t _know_ anymore, Bucky.” He buried his face in his hands.

            Hesitantly, Bucky put a hand between Steve’s shoulder blades. “Yeah, you do. Doesn’t feel like it, but you know. Always did.”

            Steve gave a watery chuckle and looked up. “Wasn’t _I_ supposed to be helping _you_?”

            “You are,” Bucky promised, “I’m not about to have a psychotic break. I’ve had two years to get myself back some. Now I just need to…I don’t know. Feel useful? Feel like maybe I can build something up instead of just tearing it down. I’m still not exactly stable. You…you saw me when I turned up last night. And then with Tony. But I’m good right now, ok? Just…just talk to me like Bucky.”

            “Always,” Steve promised, squeezing his shoulder.

            “Well,” Bucky chuckled, shrugging off Steve’s hand, “If we’re done acting like a couple of girls, I’m gonna shower. Haven’t gotten the chance in a while.”

            “You want me to wait ‘till you’re done or should I leave?”

            “Whichever.” Bucky stood and stretched a little. “You could probably use some sleep.”

            Steve watched him retreat into the bathroom, then stretched out on the bed to wait. He’d just drifted off to sleep when the quiet sound of the door opening woke him up. Bucky stood in the bathroom door, steam curling around him, a towel wrapped around his waist. “Pretty sure that’s _my_ bed, Rogers,” he said with a smirk.

            Steve didn’t respond. He was too busy staring at the scars all across Bucky’s torso. Those around his left shoulder looked older and almost burned into the skin, but there were knife wounds and even a bullet hole spread across the rest of his chest. Slowly, Bucky’s smile fell and he turned to grab a t-shirt out of the duffle bag Steve had packed for him. “Not as pretty as I used to be, I know,” he said bitterly, his back still turned. It was just as scarred as his chest, if not more so.

            “Was all that…” Steve couldn’t finish the question.

            “No,” Bucky answered anyway, “Believe it or not, I didn’t do a lot of hand-to-hand as the Soldier. I was too good for anyone to really score a hit on. You were pretty much the first person who managed to hurt me—other than my handlers—since they gave me the arm. But I was on the streets for a while after that and…well, people weren’t exactly kind. Then I spent some time hunting down the last of my old handlers, got a few scars that way.”

            “You…you hunted them down?” Steve asked.

            Bucky turned around at last, scars now covered and with an angry glint to his eyes. “Don’t you fucking tell me I shouldn’t have,” he spat, “I don’t need Captain Morals right now, Steve.”

            Steve stood and walked to plant himself a foot or two in front of his friend, glaring straight into his eyes. “You think I’m disappointed in you?” he hissed, “You’re not the only one with a dark side, Bucky. Everybody seems to think I’m pure as the driven snow, but I figured you knew me better than that. I’m pissed because that means _I_ don’t get to take any of them out myself. For what those bastards did to you.”

            Bucky blinked, then that same smirk returned to his face. “So you _do_ care.”

            “Fuck you, Barnes,” Steve growled.

            Bucky stepped away, turning back around to retrieve a pair of sweat-pants and very deliberately dropping the towel before he slipped them on. “I’m sure Frenchie thought about it a time or two,” he threw over his shoulder, “Like I said, I was a lot prettier back then.” Steve just rolled his eyes. “Go on, Steve,” he sighed once he was fully dressed, “Neither one of us slept last night, and you just got back from a mission. Go to bed. I’ll be fine.”

            Steve was about to go, but he couldn’t help hesitating. “Would you mind if I… Do you care if I just sleep in the chair?” he asked, nodding to the overstuffed armchair by the window.

            Bucky grinned. “Keeping an eye on me, punk?”

            “No, I just…” He had to take a deep breath before continuing. “I just remember what it was like after I woke up from the ice. I kept waking up from the most vivid dreams.”

            “You worried I’m gonna have a nightmare?” Bucky asked reluctantly. It was true, he rarely slept without them.

            “No,” Steve said, mostly honestly, “I’m worried I’m gonna wake up from this and I’ll still be recovering there. And you’ll still be dead.”

            “I’m pretty sure I’m not,” Bucky said with a forced chuckle, “Unless this is all just a very strange version of Hell. Sleep in the chair if you want. Hell, the bed’s big enough for both of us if you’d rather stretch out. Guy your size, sleeping in a chair can’t be comfortable.”

            “You sure?” Steve asked. It wouldn’t have been the first time they’d shared a bed. Steve had sometimes needed Bucky for warmth in the days before the serum, lest his lungs seize up from the cold. But he also knew how jumpy he could be about people too close to him when he first woke up. He’d almost knifed a few teammates who’d made the mistake of shaking him out of a sound sleep. It was an old reflex learned from months spent on the front lines, and one he couldn’t imagine was helped by Hydra reprogramming and two years on the streets.

            “Yeah, we can even put the pillows in the middle…to protect your virtue, ya know?” Bucky teased. He secretly wasn’t so sure. A big part of him wanted very much for Steve to stay. To never be out of his sight again. But another piece was also worried about what might happen if Bucky _did_ have a flashback. He’d taken beatings and stabbings on the streets simply because he refused to fight back at all, generally just curling into a ball and trying to hold himself together long enough for his attacker to get away without the Winter Soldier’s instincts emerging to take them down. Hard. He worried what the reaction might be if he woke up from a nightmare in unfamiliar surroundings with someone else in the room, much less in the bed. But he trusted Steve, and he didn’t want his best friend sleeping in an uncomfortable chair on his account.

            Steve snapped him out of that train of thought with his undignified spluttering. “My _what_? Excuse you, Bucky Barnes, but I don’t think you have any reason to be commenting on my damned virtue. Which one of us went on a date more recently?”

            “Unless you’ve managed to pull your head out of your ass and find a girl in this century, still me. You and Peggy never got your date.”

            “Christ, Buck,” Steve groaned, rubbing his face in irritation, “I figured I’d have at least a couple of days of you being a puddle of trauma before you started in on my dating life.”

            “I’m multitasking,” Bucky said smugly, stretching out on the bed.

            Steve was about to duck into the other bedroom, where he’d stashed his own change of clothes, but turned to glare at his friend. “You sound like Natasha.”

            Bucky, already halfway asleep somehow— _Must be all the damned food,_ the ex-assassin thought—cracked one eyelid lazily. “Oh, yeah. How _is_ Romanoff?”

            “She’s fine. Glad you’re back, same as the rest of us.”

            “Tell her I’m sorry for shooting her that one time, ok?” Bucky said through a jaw-cracking yawn.

            Steve grinned, remembering this side of his old friend. Even before the war, Bucky had been the sort of guy who could fall asleep anywhere. When they were on the front lines, it had become a survival skill, grabbing what sleep he could between shellings and air raids. He’d never slept particularly soundly, tending to wake up in a cold sweat after his time as a POW, but it was never hard for him to fall asleep. This Bucky, happy and teasing and sleepy, was the one that Steve remembered most from their time before the war. “Go to sleep, pal,” he chuckled, “I’ll be right back.”

            Bucky was sound asleep by the time Steve came back into the room, though he tensed at the sound of the door opening. “It’s just me, Buck,” Steve whispered. His friend settled at the sound of his voice. Steve hesitated awkwardly for a few seconds before lying down atop the covers on the other side of the bed and closing his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I fudged Steve's age by a few years. I did it for effect to illustrate the point that he really is a young guy with the weight of the world on his shoulders, but it it bugs you just pretend he's talking about his physical age since the serum effectively stopped his aging process according to the comics.


	4. Team Bonding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I almost killed you.” The voice from behind his screening curtain of hair was absolutely miserable._   
>  _“You’re not the first person to almost kill me, Bucky,” Steve promised, “You won’t be the last, either.”_   
>  _“Doesn’t make me feel any better.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter, but with some more of Bucky's grim humor and Steve's precious optimism.

**Team Bonding**

 

            Steve didn’t know what it was that woke him up, but he opened his eyes to find the bedroom still dark and still. Moving quietly and smoothly, trusting in the carefully cultivated instincts of a soldier, he slipped out of the bed to crouch by the window. “Buck,” he hissed into the silence. There was no answer. Steve peered through the gloom at the bed, only to see Bucky’s side empty, the quilt thrown back haphazardly. He stood up, rolling the tension out of his shoulders, figuring that it must have been Bucky’s exit that set him on edge. Padding silently out into the hallway, he cast about in search of the other man, careful not to make enough noise to disturb Clint. There was no sign of Bucky, either in the hall or downstairs, so Steve made his quiet way out onto the lawn. It had been an old habit, one from before the war, but he remembered finding Bucky out on the fire escape on the rare occasions that he actually couldn’t sleep. Later, when they shared a tent on the front lines, Steve had often found Bucky making quiet conversation with the midnight sentries, too wired and nervous to make himself lie down. Those had been the times when Steve had dragged his old friend back to their tent and literally talked him to sleep, reminiscing about their shared childhood and planning for a future they’d never seen.

            “Bucky?” Steve called into the night air, walking slowly across yard in front of the house. He spun at a noise from behind him, just in time to see a dark figure drop noiselessly from the roof. “Christ almighty, Buck,” he gasped, clutching his chest when he recognized the telltale arm, “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

            “Sorry,” Bucky replied, ghosting across the grass, “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

            “Don’t worry about it. What were you even doing on the roof?”

            Bucky shrugged, metal shoulder glinting. “Stargazing. Barton’s got quite the setup up there, ya know. The Hawk’s own little nest.”

            “Why didn’t you wake me?” Steve asked, pushing a hand through his blonde hair.

            “You looked sort of worn out,” the other man admitted, “Besides, didn’t wanna worry you.”

            It was true. Steve had hardly slept in the three weeks he’d spent in Morocco with the new Avengers. Even with his serum-enhanced constitution, the fatigue had begun to tell on him. Wanda and Sam had both been ready to drop, and even Vision—who didn’t so much sleep as power down periodically—had started to drag by the end. But that didn’t mean that he wasn’t perfectly willing to go another three weeks without sleep for Bucky’s sake. “Hey,” he said, stepping closer to his companion, “You’re not gonna worry me any less by sneaking out onto the roof in the middle of the night, ok? Come on, it’s cold out here.” Bucky allowed himself to be towed back into the house, settling across from Steve on a sofa in the living room. “So what’s up?” Steve asked, leaning forward, elbows on knees.

            “Nightmare,” Bucky admitted.

            Steve cocked his head. “You wanna tell me what about?”

            Bucky shuddered for a moment before speaking. “You. I have it a lot.”

            “You mean on the helicarrier?” Steve guessed.

            “Yeah. I have this nightmare about what would’ve happened if you hadn’t pulled me out. I was…it was like I was in there, after the bridge, but I couldn’t stop myself. I was _screaming_ in there. And I keep having this nightmare that I don’t break out soon enough. That the Winter Soldier completes his fucking mission and I scream my way through it, locked up in my own head.” He was shaking hard by the time he’d finished speaking, head down and fists clenched.

            Steve reached out to take Bucky’s good hand in his, pulling gently at the fingers until they uncurled, leaving little punctures in the flesh of the palm where Buck’s nails had dug in. “It didn’t happen. You stopped. Not just that, Bucky, you _saved me_.”

            “I almost killed you.” The voice from behind his screening curtain of hair was absolutely miserable.

            “You’re not the first person to almost kill me, Bucky,” Steve promised, “You won’t be the last, either.”

            “Doesn’t make me feel any better.”

            Steve slipped out of his seat to crouch in front of his old friend. “Look at me, Bucky,” he ordered gently. The dark head came up, hair falling away from his face. “You,” Steve said, his voice firm as he leaned his forehead against Bucky’s, “are not responsible for what they did to you. I am.” He heard the other man’s breathing hitch at the words. “ _I_ let you fall, Bucky. _I_ brought you out on that mission. It’s _my_ fault, not yours.”

            The metal hand came up to grab the back of Steve’s neck, not squeezing hard but with tension evident in every line of Bucky’s body. “ _No_ ,” he whispered vehemently, “Don’t. _Not your fault_.”

            Steve had to suppress a sad smile. “It’s just as much mine as it is yours. So if you say it’s not my fault, it _can’t_ be yours, right?”

            Bucky knocked his head gently against Steve’s. “That’s cheating.” His flesh hand still in Steve’s grip, he used the metal one to wipe away his tears. “Isn’t Captain America supposed to be all about fair play?”

            “Yeah, but Steve Rogers was a skinny kid from Brooklyn who had to learn how to fight a little dirty. You taught me, Buck.” Steve leaned forward to wrap his arms around Bucky, feeling some of the tension slowly bleed out of the smaller man at his touch.

            “You’re still a punk,” Bucky muttered into his shoulder, “You’re just a bigger punk now.”

            _He always used to be so physical,_ Steve thought to himself, patting his friend’s back as he felt tears soak into his shoulder _, always messing with my hair or slinging an arm around me. How long’s it been since somebody touched him and it didn’t hurt?_ Bucky tensed and pulled away at the sound of the stairs creaking, his head whipping around.

            “Uhh,” Clint said awkwardly, rubbing blearily at his eyes, “Sorry to interrupt.”

            Steve just shrugged, moving to sit next to Bucky, careful to keep one arm loosely wrapped around his shoulders. “No sweat. Sorry if we woke you.”

            Clint fixed him with an amused stare. “Steve, man, I’m a master assassin who also has a six month old baby. You could say I’m a bit of a light sleeper.” His gaze shifted to Bucky. “Dare I ask what you were doing on my roof?”

            “Thinking,” Buck replied, “Why do you have a damned arsenal up there?”

            Clint yawned hugely but a sadistic little smile came over his face. “We had a gopher problem. Emphasis on _had_.”

            “That’s…disturbing,” Steve muttered. Bucky snorted.

            “Great. Well I’m going back to bed, but feel free to do whatever. Mi casa and all that.”

            “Night,” the other two chorused.

            Bucky waited until they heard the sound of Clint’s door shutting before he turned to Steve. “What exactly does he think we were doing?” he asked quietly.

            “Team bonding?” Steve snorted, just as quiet.

            “Is _that_ what the kids are calling it these days?” Bucky chuckled, always one to offer up an off-color joke in the name of breaking the tension.

            Steve ruffled his hair affectionately. “Smart ass. You _would_ pick up on the innuendo in this century first.”

            “In- _your_ -end-o,” Bucky whispered, sending them both into a fit of poorly muffled laughter.

            “I guess _neither_ of us is funny,” Steve whispered back once he could breathe again.

            “Oh, Jesus,” Bucky snorted, wiping his streaming eyes, “What are we gonna do with me, Steve? I can’t hold it together for twenty minutes at a time without turning into a guilt-riddled mess.”

            “Yeah, but you bounce back quick enough,” Steve reassured him, bumping his shoulder affectionately against Bucky’s, “I’ll just stick around to pull you back when you need it.”

            They both tensed again at the sound of claws scrabbling on the floor, but then Clint’s dog came padding into the room. Bucky had been introduced to Lucky the minute they walked in the door by way of the dog leaping up to try and lick him to death, eager to make a new friend. “Oh look,” Buck whispered at the friendly canine’s entrance, “It’s Little Steve.” The dog came over to nose at Bucky’s free hand until he was given the demanded ear-scratches.

            “We could get one,” Steve said impulsively, joining in lavishing attention on the handsome golden retriever.

            “A dog?” Bucky asked, raising an eyebrow, “You wannna add on that kind of responsibility? You’ve got _me_ to take care of now.”

            “Yeah, but you always wanted one, back in the day. And Sam says that a lot of vets get service dogs to help cope with PTSD. I was considering it for a while, but I figured I didn’t really have the time to take care of it with all the Avengers missions.”

            “And you’re gonna have _more_ time now?” Bucky asked, still dubious.

            Steve seemed to deflate a little. “Well, I mean…you’ll be around, right? And I figure I won’t be going on a lot of missions for a while.”

            “Steve,” Bucky said, repressing a grin, “I think we skipped over the part where I’m apparently moving in with you. Maybe we should figure out a thing or two before we go getting a dog.”

            “Aww, come on, pal,” Steve wheedled, “Is you moving in really a question? Where else are you gonna live? Besides, I can’t take care of you very well if you’re not living in my apartment. It’s the same reason we moved in together after my ma died.”

            “Your place is _tiny_ , Steve,” Bucky teased, “It took me about five seconds to search the whole apartment after I broke in.”

            “I’ll get a bigger place.”

            Bucky looked at him, marveling at how unwilling Steve always was to look before he leapt. “You’re just gonna uproot your whole life for me? I mean, I already made you move out of that place in DC when I…you know…shot it full of holes. I don’t wanna put you out of house and home _again_.”

            “I pretty much only sleep in my current place,” Steve told him with a shrug, “I spend the rest of my time either at the Avengers tower or just out around town.”

            “Why?” Bucky asked curiously.

            “It feels…empty,” Steve admitted.

            “Hence the dog?”

            “Hence the _you_. The last time I had an apartment before DC was with you. I don’t really like living by myself. I feel disconnected enough in this century without rattling around an empty apartment all day.”

            “Oh.”

            “Yeah.”

            “Guess I’m moving in.”

            “So how about the dog?”

            Bucky let out a short, coughing laugh. “You don’t give up, do you?”

            “You know I don’t. Come on, Sam can hook us up with a great service dog if we want.”

            Bucky looked into those pleading, blue eyes and snorted. “How can a six foot tall, two hundred and fifty pound man give me puppy eyes? There have to be laws against this.”

            “Just think about it, alright?”

            “Rogers, you damn softie.”

            “So…” Steve murmured, smile lingering on his face, “You’ve been bumming around the twenty-first century for two years. Seen any good TV lately?”

            “The emphasis there is on _bum_ , Steve. I haven’t exactly been catching up on America’s Next Top Model. Too busy trying to stay alive.”

            “And yet you know what America’s Next Top Model is,” Steve pointed out.

            “People talk a lot in soup kitchens.”

            “Well,” Steve huffed, leaning forward to snag the remote off the coffee table, “I’m definitely not going to get back to sleep any time soon. Why don’t I live up to that promise about introducing you to Star Trek?”

            “Did Sam show you this?” Bucky asked, settling back into the couch cushions with poorly hidden eagerness.

            “No, it was actually Tony. Said he thought it’d appeal to me more than Star Wars.”

            “Did it?”

            “Certainly more than those ridiculous prequels.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dog, Lucky, is actually from the Hawkeye comics.


	5. Breaking Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Sorry,” Bucky rasped, his throat gone dry, “Sorry, I…I thought you wanted to.” He started to pull away but again Steve caught him, this time around the waist._   
>  _“Of course I do,” Steve said vehemently, “I…geez, Buck, I was the one who started it, wasn’t I? But…are you sure you want to do this? Do us?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to focus on Bucky's PTSD here, and how that kind of thing sneaks up on you in the worst possible moments. That means flashbacks and trauma, so be warned.

** Breaking Point **

 

            Clint found them the next morning, asleep on the couch with Piccard frozen on the television screen. “This is probably the weirdest thing I’ve ever woken up to,” he admitted, leaning on the wall by the stairs, “And I grew up in the circus.”

            “It’s not that weird,” Steve said with a yawn, giving Bucky’s shoulder a gentle shake. The sleepy ex-Hydra asset picked his head off of Steve’s shoulder and blinked at Clint groggily.

            “It’s exactly that weird. I’ve got two super soldiers from the 1940’s cuddling on my couch and watching Star Trek on my TV. Who even taught you how to use Netflix?”

            “I’m ninety-five,” Steve grumbled, “Not dead.”

            “We also weren’t cuddling,” Bucky sighed.

            Clint put up his hands. “Hey, man, I don’t give a crap if you were or you weren’t. But it sure _looked_ like cuddling.”

            Steve rolled his eyes and disentangled himself from the still sleepy Bucky, padding into the kitchen. “I’ll get started on breakfast. You like pancakes, Clint?”

            He heard the archer groan in pleasure at the thought. “Jesus Christ. If Barnes isn’t gonna bang you, I might have to.” Steve chuckled, opening the refrigerator.

            “It’s not like that,” he heard Bucky insist.

            “Sure, ok. But, I mean…you know that sort of thing is ok these days, right?” Clint sounded faintly uncomfortable.

            Bucky sounded more than faintly so. “Yeah, I know. But you know Steve’s not…I mean, you have to have heard all about Peggy.”

            “Well…I know a little, but he doesn’t talk about her. Most of what I know is from Natasha. She did some digging on the whole team before we agreed to join up.”

            Bucky was silent for a few moments before speaking. “Jeez. He never shut up about her back in the old days.”

            “None of us really talk about our pasts. Seems like too-painful-to-relive is par for the course in the superhero game. None of us heard much about _you_ either, up until S.H.I.E.L.D. fell. Now, though…I’ve heard stories, man. Exactly how often did you have to pull him out of fights?”

            Bucky scoffed. “The fights weren’t too bad. It was pulling him out of _dumpsters_ that got annoying. You shoulda seen the little twerp, all covered in rotten cabbage and eggshells, still raring to go. It was like a damn Loony Toon.” In the kitchen, Steve turned beet red and dropped the pan he was holding with a clatter. “Yeah, that’s right,” Bucky called, “Quit eavesdropping, Rogers.”

            Steve picked up the pan and went to the door, glaring at his old friend. “You traitor, you,” he chuckled, shaking his head, “You promised never to tell anyone about that.”

            Unconcerned, Bucky lounged back on the couch. “Yeah, well you promised to stay home and take care of yourself and quit trying to enlist. Now look at you.”

            “Aw, come on,” Steve complained, getting back to work on breakfast, “I thought we’d been over this.”

            “I’ll quit bringing it up when it stops pissing me off.” Despite the harsh words, his tone remained light and teasing.

            “See if I make _you_ pancakes,” Steve admonished, standing in the doorway to wave a spatula at him.

            Clint blinked at them. “You two have really only been back together for _two days_? You’re like an old married couple, I swear.”

            “Yeah, except we don’t fondue,” Bucky snorted, shooting Steve a knowing look.

            “Fondue?” Clint asked, raising an eyebrow.

            “Let’s just say Stevie here had a bit of a dirty mind, back in the day.”

            “James Buchanan Barnes, you son of a bitch,” Steve spluttered, “I will _throttle_ you.”

            “Language,” Clint chimed in, making Steve redden even further and Bucky drop his head back with a laugh, “Come on, Cap. America’s sweetheart shouldn’t use words like that.”

            “This guy?” Bucky asked, hooking a thumb at Steve, “Captain America might not swear, but _Steve Rogers_ had quite the mouth on him, back in the day. At least when there were no ladies present, that is.”

            “Yeah, well, you heard Clint. America’s sweetheart doesn’t talk like that. You’re just a bad influence, Barnes.”

            “Nah, I just take you back to the days when you didn’t have such a star-spangled stick up your ass,” Bucky said with a sly grin. Clint fell off the back of the couch laughing.

            “Is that going to become a thing now?” Steve asked with a sigh, “I almost prefer Capsicle.”

            “I’ll bear that in mind.”

***

            Breakfast was a hit with the two hungry marksmen, all three of them joking amiably as Clint and Bucky both downed enough food for several men. Clint once again handled the dishes, though this time he just waved off Bucky’s offer of help. “So, Clint,” Steve said, leaning contentedly on the counter beside his teammate, “You wouldn’t happen to have anything that needs doing around here, would you? Bucky and I are gonna get antsy if we don’t have anything to keep busy.”

            Clint fixed him with a level stare. “It’s a farm, Steve. There’s _always_ something that needs doing.”

            “Well you’ve got a pair of old soldiers with super-strength,” Bucky said, grinning and slinging an arm around Steve’s neck, “Got anything that needs lifting?”

            “I’ve got an ass-load of straw that needs to get mucked out of the barn,” Clint offered, “You two up for it? There’s a case of beer in it for you.”

            “You know neither one of us can get drunk anymore, right?” Bucky snorted.

            “Then I guess you can drink it while you work. Just don’t stab each other with a pitchfork or something. Laura would kill me if I let one of you get blood on the carpet.”

            “Come on, Steve,” Bucky said bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet, “I’ll bet I can finish my half before you finish yours.”

            “You have a metal arm with super-strength, you freaking cheater,” Steve said with a laugh.

            “Yeah, so let’s see if I can put it to good use for once,” Bucky replied cheekily.

            “Do you two actually know what you’re doing?” Clint asked, a dubious look on his face even as he set the promised libations on the counter.

            “We’ll figure it out,” Bucky promised, pulling Steve out the back door and snagging the beer under his arm.

            As it turned out, “figure it out” was harder than expected, neither of them used to wielding pitchforks. But it wasn’t long before they were both flinging soiled straw out of the opened barn door. “Christ,” Bucky panted, leaning his tool up against the wall and snagging a third beer, “I didn’t think this would actually be hard.”

            “You’re out of shape, old man,” Steve teased, grinning and wiping sweat off his face.

            “Yeah, well you try meeting your calorie needs out of dumpsters and homeless shelters,” Bucky said, making a face at him, “Not like I was working out in the deep freeze, either.”

            Steve leaned next to him against the wall, shoving at his shoulder playfully. “You whining, Barnes?”

            Bucky slapped his hand away, grinning sidelong. “You wanna go a few rounds, Rogers? We’ll see who’s whining then.”

            “You haven’t been through the ringer enough already?” Steve chuckled.

            “Scared, Steve?” Bucky asked, tossing his empty beer can aside and rolling his shoulders, “I _did_ kick your ass last time we fought. But maybe wrestling is a better bet than boxing. Wouldn’t want to mess up that pretty mug of yours.”

            “You really wanna do this, pal?” Steve asked, laughing and standing up a little straighter.

            “Old Army rules?” Bucky suggested, his grin widening.

            “We don’t have a ring,” Steve pointed out.

            “I didn’t say _official_ Army rules,” Bucky replied, moving out into the middle of the cleared space and scuffing out a circle in the dirt. “First to three pins?”

            Steve groaned and rolled his eyes, but he stripped off his leather jacket and flannel shirt, leaving him in just a grey tank top and jeans. “Try not to kill me there, cyborg.”

            Bucky squared off, ready to spring. “Hey, you liked that Data guy.”

            “Data’s an android, Bucky,” Steve snorted, falling into the same position. Without any visible signal, they leapt at one another, each grappling for leverage. Steve ducked the metal hand, knocking it aside and barreling Bucky to the dirt with a whoop. They continued struggling for a few moments, but Steve managed to keep the upper hand. “Gotcha,” he panted, one arm barred across Bucky’s throat. He was about to let his friend up when a loud crack split the air. Some part of Steve’s mind recognized it as the sound of an engine backfiring, but a far larger part heard gunshots. He dropped flat on top of Bucky, tucking his head down even as his heart sped to a million miles an hour. “Stay down,” Steve hissed, eyes squeezed shut.

            “Get off me,” Bucky said in a choked whisper. Steve didn’t respond, still too panicked. “Get _off_ ,” Bucky cried, shoving him away with his prosthetic arm. Steve flew across the floor, landing in a pile of fresh straw. Bucky dragged himself off into a corner, curling into a ball. Steve could hear him making tiny, desperate noises.

            “Bucky?” he asked hesitantly, his breathing slowing as the panic fled only to be replaced by concern, “Bucky?”

            Bucky clutched his head between his hands, tugging at his hair. “ _Stop,_ ” he begged, “ _Stop. Please, God, make it stop. I don’t wanna do it. Please, it_ hurts. _Oh, God, it hurts. Get away, get away, I don’t wanna do it._ Steve. I’ve gotta get out of here. Oh God, Steve, they’re hurting me. Don’t let them hurt me. Steve!” His voice broke into a harsh cry on the last word.

            Steve’s knees hit the dirt hard as he knelt before his friend. “Bucky,” he called softly, “Bucky, it’s me.” He reached out to pull the grasping, clawing fingers away from Bucky’s scalp. “I’m here, Buck. Come back. Come back to me.”

            In a flash, the metal hand came up to wrap around Steve’s throat. Glacial blue met summer sky as their eyes locked. “It’s me, Bucky,” Steve whispered, reaching out to cup his cheeks gently. Bucky shuddered and leaned into the touch, the metal arm releasing its grip and curling against his chest.

            “Steve? Oh, God, I’m sorry,” he whispered, a sob tearing through him, “I’m so sorry.”

            “Hey,” Steve soothed, stroking back Bucky’s hair, “Hey, no. Don’t be sorry. Don’t be sorry, Bucky. Don’t _you_ ever be sorry.”

            “Steve,” Bucky whimpered. He pushed himself forward off the wall and buried his face in the broad chest. Steve wrapped his arms around the trembling man, tucking Buck’s head under his chin.

            “I’m here,” he murmured against the dark hair, “You’re safe.”

            “I kept calling for you,” Bucky whispered into his shirt, “When they were giving me the arm, I kept screaming for you, begging you to save me. And then, when they were wiping me over and over, when they were taking me apart piece by piece…I remember when I stopped calling for you. When I forgot.”

            “I’m sorry.” Steve was the one trying to hold back tears now. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t _know_. I thought you were dead.”

            “Not your fault,” Bucky said, shaking his head against Steve’s shoulder, “Not your fault.”

            “I shouldn’t have taken you on that mission. I should have had you sent home as soon as I go you away from them the first time.”

            “That’s not how it worked back then, Stevie. You weren’t the one calling the shots that time.”

            “I could have _made_ them,” Steve growled, his arms tightening around Bucky, “They knew they needed me. I should have _made_ them send you home, said I wouldn’t help ‘em otherwise.”

            Bucky lifted a fist and punched him in the ribs, though not very hard. “And gotten court-martialed for insubordination?” he asked, lifting his head to lean his forehead against Steve’s. “Don’t be stupid. _I_ chose to join up with you and the Commandos. You didn’t make that choice for me.”

            “I should have jumped,” Steve said, tears in his eyes, “I survived the plane crash. If you survived that fall, so could I. If I’d just jumped after you… I could have saved you, Bucky.”

            “You could have frozen to death trying to get me out of the mountains, you mean,” Bucky told him firmly, “Or gotten captured and turned right along with me.”

            Steve reached up to tuck a strand of Bucky’s hair back behind his ear. “At least we’d have been together.” Not thinking, he tilted his face and pressed a kiss to Bucky’s slack mouth. Steve pulled back half a second later, shocked at his own actions. “Shit,” he stammered, “Shit, maybe I’m drunk after all.”

            Bucky stared at him in stunned silence for a few long heartbeats before opening his mouth. “Yeah,” he croaked, “Me too.” And then he lunged forward, swallowing Steve’s lips in a kiss with all the hunger and desperation of a man who’d gone seventy-five years without a light in the darkness.

            “Bucky,” Steve gasped when they finally broke apart for air. Bucky would have silenced him with another kiss, but Steve caught him by the shoulders, a searching expression on his face. “Bucky…you said it yourself…neither one of us can actually get drunk.” Bucky froze, going tense in Steve’s grasp. He’d played along with the fiction of intoxication as a way of giving Steve an out. As a way of letting it happen without letting it actually _mean_ anything. But if Steve was dropping the act…

            “Sorry,” Bucky rasped, his throat gone dry, “Sorry, I…I thought you wanted to.” He started to pull away but again Steve caught him, this time around the waist.

            “Of course I do,” Steve said vehemently, “I…geez, Buck, I was the one who started it, wasn’t I? But…are _you_ sure you want to do this? Do us?”

            Us. The word hung down in Bucky’s ribcage like a lead weight pulling on his heart. Steve didn’t just want him. Steve wanted _him_. Steve Rogers, a man who did absolutely nothing by half measures, wanted to build an _us_ together. With _him_. “I can’t,” Bucky whispered, scrambling back and out of Steve’s lap. Steve let him go. “I can’t. I’m sorry, Steve, I just can’t.”

            Steve followed slowly, reaching out a gentling hand which Bucky shrank from. “It’s ok, pal,” he murmured as reassuringly as he know how, “It’s ok. We don’t have to. You don’t need to apologize.”

            Bucky curled up against the wall again. “I can’t,” he repeated desperately, “I can’t, I can’t, I _can’t_. I’m broken. I’m _wrong_. I killed so many people, Stevie.” He glanced up and the look in Steve’s eyes made him want to die. It was a look of infinite, loving understanding. And a look full of the pain of rejection. “I’m _sorry_ ,” Bucky sobbed, wrapping his arms over his head, “I’m so sorry. I keep fucking hurting you.”

            Again, Steve knelt by his side. “Stop worrying about me,” he ordered, stroking a hand down Bucky’s spine.

            “How can I ever stop worrying about you?” Bucky asked, not looking up.

            “You’re all I care about right now,” Steve promised, “You wanna make me feel better, you’ve just gotta try to feel better yourself. I just want to take care of you, Bucky. Get you back on your feet.”

            “You shouldn’t care so much,” Bucky gasped, still choking on his tears, “You shouldn’t want to take care of me. I don’t deserve it. I’m _broken_ , Steve. You don’t want _me_.”

            Steve lowered himself to sit next to Bucky, leaning his broad back against the wall. “Yeah,” he agreed, “You’re broken. Doesn’t mean you can’t be fixed. I’m broken too, Bucky. Just because the people I killed were bad guys doesn’t mean I don’t hate it. And nobody _made_ me do that. Nobody _made_ me go to war, or fight with my team. You didn’t have a choice. But you’ve got one now, and you shouldn’t let guilt hold you back if…if this is something you want. And if it’s not, that’s your choice too. I’m here either way, and all I want is for you to do what makes you happy.”

            Bucky slowly uncurled his body, hesitantly leaning over to lay his head against Steve’s shoulder. “I love you,” he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut, “I just…I don’t know if I can do this.”

            Steve put an arm around him, carding his fingers through the long, dark hair. “I love you too.” The admission was quiet and careful and very warm. “And nothing has to happen you don’t want. I’ll take whatever you’re ready to give, and I’m not gonna ask for more. Alright?”

            “Alright,” Bucky agreed, relaxing into Steve’s hold, “I just…I thought you liked dames.”

            “So did I,” Steve snorted, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of Bucky’s head, “Looks like we’re both full of surprises.”

            “I mean you never…back in the old days, you never seemed like you were…”

            “I dunno,” Steve said with a shrug, “It wasn’t something I ever really thought about. You know I didn’t have that much experience with women, so I guess I never had all that much to compare to the way I felt about…you know, about you. But then I woke up here and… I dunno, Buck. People are a lot more accepting about that kind of thing now. So…I thought about it a couple times, just in a _what-could-have-been_ kind of way. And…it didn’t seem like such a terrible option. Maybe even like something I missed out on.”

            “What about Peggy?” Bucky asked, genuinely curious.

            “I loved Peggy,” Steve agreed, “Doesn’t mean I don’t love you. It was different with her. Not better or anything, just…different.”

            “I knew,” Bucky admitted, turning his head to hide his face in Steve’s shoulder, “I knew how I felt, back then.”

            Steve stared at him, startled. “You did? But you were always out with girls…”

            “It’s not like I didn’t like ‘em. Just…they weren’t _you_. I even tried it on with a couple other guys over the years, but…I just wanted you.”

            “And I never knew? You were going out with guys and I never found out?”

            “I thought you must’ve known, for a long while. Figured you were just being too big about it to bring it up. Then I realized you had no idea and…I didn’t want to tell you.”

            “Why? You know I’d never have judged you for liking men. Not even if I hadn’t felt the same.”

            It was Bucky’s turn to shrug. “It always felt like… I don’t know. Betraying you. And I didn’t want you to know how I felt about _you_.”

            “I’m glad I know now,” Steve said, squeezing Bucky’s shoulders tightly.

            “It doesn’t…I still don’t know if I can do _us_ ,” he admitted, “I’m just too messed up. I don’t think I can ever feel like I deserve it. Like I deserve _you_.”

            “We don’t have to,” Steve promised him, “I can wait forever if you need me to. I’m just glad I know.”

 


	6. Touching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Steve raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean, Buck?”_   
>  _Bucky let loose a frustrated growl and kissed him, hard. In his mind, he knew exactly what it was he wanted. He wanted to fill his every sense with Steve until, no matter how vivid the dream or flashback, his twisted mind couldn’t possibly convince him that he didn’t have this man by his side. He wanted to wrap himself in Steve’s warm, solid presence until he felt safe. He wanted Steve’s hands on every inch of him, holding him together to keep the broken pieces from flying off. “Touch me,” he whispered brokenly against the other man’s lips._

**Touching**

 

 

            When they went inside for lunch, Clint took one look at the two of them—all covered in dirt and straw—and blurted, “Jesus Christ, did you two have sex in my barn?”

            Steve turned a shade of red that would have put his shield to shame, but Bucky actually laughed. “No, Clint, we did not. Did a bit of rolling around on the ground, though.”

            “Uh huh?” Barton said, raising his eyebrows.

            “We were sparring, Clint,” Steve grumbled, “And what the hell was that noise earlier?”

            “Tractor backfiring,” Clint told him, shoving a pair of plates across the counter at them, “Tony never actually got the chance to fix it the last time you guys were here.”

            “He was a little busy,” Steve snorted, grabbing his sandwich, “Ultron and all that.”

            “Still can’t believe you guys fought an evil robot _of your own creation_ ,” Bucky admitted, shaking his head as he sat down next to Steve, “It’s like a crappy novel.”

            “ _I_ still can’t believe you guys fought a Nazi without a face,” Clint said, joining them, “And it was really only of Stark’s creation. Banner’s too, but we can forgive him for being taken in by Tony the Tin Man.”

            “You remember seeing _Wizard of Oz_ , Buck?” Steve laughed, “It was basically the first pop culture reference I got in this century.”

            “What, Tony the Tin Man?”

            “No. Flying monkeys.” Steve turned to Clint, grinning, “They scared the daylights outta both of us, first time we saw it.”

            “Yeah,” Bucky laughed, “But Stevie was too tough to admit it. You shoulda seen him jump when my little sister came up behind him, though.”

            “You had a sister?” Clint asked.

            Bucky looked down at his food, his face falling. “Three of ‘em. They’re all gone, now, though. I visited their graves not too long after I got my memories back.”

            “Charlotte has grandkids living not far from me,” Steve said gently, “Emily’s are in Massachusetts. Jane’s daughter never had any kids and she’s getting on in years, but I see her now and again.”

            Looking up at him, Bucky couldn’t help but smile a little. “You kept track of my sisters’ kids?”

            “I looked them up almost as soon as I got out of the ice. Figured it was the least I could do for you, and they were just about all _I_ had too, at least after my ma died. They’d all be really happy to meet you, you know.”

            Bucky’s brow furrowed. “Did you tell them I’m alive?”

            “No,” Steve told him hesitantly, “I didn’t think it’d be right for me to tell them unless I found you. No real point in getting their hopes up, you know? And besides…they’re _your_ family. I don’t think it was really my place to tell them about what happened to you.”

            “I’m not sure I want to meet them. I mean… How would I even explain? ‘Hey, I’m your great-uncle. Don’t mind the metal arm or the fact that I’m younger than most of you, it’s all Hydra’s fault.’ I can’t picture that going well.”

            Clint cleared his throat, drawing their attention back to him. “Look, I might be overstepping here, but nothing is more important than family. I sort of hate my brother, but that doesn’t mean I don’t wish I had the chance to…reconnect, somehow. Even just with his memory. And even if _you_ don’t feel the same way, your family probably does. You could be a chance for them to reconnect with your sisters’ memory as much as they are for you.”

            “I…” Bucky swallowed hard before continuing. “Yeah. You might be right about that.” Steve reached over underneath the table to squeeze his hand. “Maybe when we get back to New York, ok, Steve?”

            “I think that’d be great,” Rogers agreed, smiling broadly. He shot Clint a grateful look even as he tucked into the food.

***

            They passed the rest of the day helping Clint with further odd jobs around the farm, carefully retreading the paths of old memories and hesitantly exploring the boundaries of what had changed between them. They exchanged small, slight touches, most of the same sort they would have before. And yet every brush of hand against neck or back or hair seemed somehow charged with enormously more meaning than it had been. There was no more kissing after that first time in the barn, but Bucky could feel Steve’s eyes on him even more acutely than before. Could feel the worry and the adoration in that gaze. Frustrated, he pulled Steve aside shortly after dinner when Clint went onto the porch to take a phone call. “Cut it out,” Bucky hissed.

            “What?” Steve asked, bewildered.

            “ _Watching_ me all the time. It’s making me nervous.”

            Steve frowned. “Sorry, Buck, I’ll try to stop. I just…I worry about you.” He laid his hand comfortingly on Bucky’s shoulder.

            “I know,” Bucky sighed, nodding, “I’m not mad. It just feels like being back with Hydra, with handlers watching my every move.”

            “I’m sorry,” Steve repeated, moving the hand to cup his cheek.

            Bucky let out a frustrated bark of laughter. “We’ve gotta stop saying that to each other. We’ll never get any other talking in, otherwise.”

            Steve smiled, relieved. “I’ll tell you what: _I’ll_ stop apologizing for being protective if _you_ stop apologizing for being a mess. I love you, mess or no mess, and all the sorry’s in the world aren’t gonna help you get better.”

            That made Bucky roll his eyes. “Well, when you put it that way how can a guy resist, you sweet-talker you?”

            “Simple,” Steve teased, “Don’t resist.” Bucky flinched at the phrase and Steve frowned again. “No good?” he asked.

            Bucky nodded, mouth tense and jaw clenched. “It’s what Zola said. When they gave me the arm.”

            “See?” Steve said, stroking his hand through the hair at the nape of Bucky’s neck, “This is good. You tell me what upsets you and I stop doing it. Almost like we’re communicating like regular folks, huh?” Bucky relaxed slowly at the soft touch.

            “Regular folks don’t have flashbacks when tractors backfire,” Bucky muttered.

            “Yeah, but _both of us_ did that. You wouldn’t have panicked so much if I hadn’t flattened you. I promise you aren’t the only one with issues here, Buck.”

            He smiled at Steve’s reassurance. “Only you would try to comfort me by comparing your flashbacks to mine.”

            “I’m just trying to remind you that you aren’t all alone in this,” Steve protested.

            Bucky reached out, laying his hand along Steve’s jaw and tracing those pink lips with his thumb. Every inch of him itched to lean in and kiss Steve breathless, but something held him back. “I love you,” he whispered instead.

            Steve smiled and turned his head so he could press a kiss to Bucky’s palm. “This scares the crap out of me,” he admitted, “ _You_ scare the crap out of me. Loving you, I mean. It’s only been a few hours and yet…I mean I’ve only even kissed you twice, but I still feel like everything’s totally different.”

            “You’re not so great at the whole _not-putting-pressure-on-me_ thing, are you?” Bucky asked with a resigned sigh.

            “Damn,” Steve spat, “I…”

            “Don’t,” Bucky silenced him, shaking his head and smiling, “I know. And I really don’t mind. You’re right, Steve, everything _does_ feel different. But…I just don’t feel like me yet. Not all the way. I think maybe I just need some time?” He shrugged helplessly, but kept smiling up at Steve. “That doesn’t mean I don’t…It doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear that from you, ok? Knowing you’re there, knowing how you feel…you’re what’s keeping me tethered. I love how eager you always are, pal, always have. You don’t have to hide it on my account.”

            “Can I…can I kiss you?” Steve asked hesitantly.

            “What if Clint walks in?” Bucky hedged.

            Steve grinned. “He already thinks we’re together, what harm could it do?”

            Bucky bit his lip for a moment, then nodded. “Ok.” Steve stepped forward and wrapped his arms around him, brushing his lips against Bucky’s. It was short and sweet and it left all the hollow spots in Bucky’s heart feeling very warm but still very empty. He rubbed a hand over his face after Steve stepped away, wincing at the feel of his thick stubble. Then an idea struck him. “Can I borrow your razor?” he asked suddenly.

            Steve’s brow furrowed in confusion but he nodded. “Yeah, of course. It’s up in my bag. You want me to grab it for you?”

            “No, I can find it,” Bucky assured him, shaking his head, “I’ll see you in the morning, ok? Tell Clint I said goodnight.”

            “Yeah, of course,” Steve said lamely, watching Bucky retreat quickly up the stairs. Something at a loss for what to do next, he made to open the front door and join Clint on the porch, only to hear his teammate’s soft voice through the door. He peered out through the peephole, watching as the archer leaned on the railing.

            “Look, Nat,” Clint said into his phone, “They’re fine, really. Better than fine, to be honest.” He paused, listening. “No, I’m serious. Barnes is pretty messed up, but he’s a lot less messed up than I was expecting. Hell, I kind of like the guy. And you should see Steve.” Another pause, then Clint chuckled. “I’m just saying, Nat, maybe it’s about time you stopped trying to set him up with random women. You should see the two of them look at each other. It’s worse than you and Bruce making goo-goo eyes all the time. Jesus, it’s bad enough, even _I_ picked up on it. And I’m pretty sure they got up to some kind of shenanigans in the barn this afternoon. They came in all covered in dirt.” He snorted. “ _Sparring_. Yeah, I’ll show them _sparring_.” There was a longer pause this time, Clint nodding along as Natasha spoke on the other end of the line. “Yeah. Yeah, I _know_ , Nat. I’m worried too, but they really do seem to have it under control. I haven’t seen any kind of violent tendencies out of James…sorry, _Barnes_ , and he definitely has his memories back. Not even _you_ could fake that kind of feeling. He’s really back, poor bastard. Steve’s got a long road ahead of him with that one, but I’m pretty sure they’re on it together.” Steve took a deep breath, slumping slightly against the door as he thought about just how long it looked. “Yeah, Nat. Yeah. Alright, I’ll talk to you soon. I’ve gotta call Laura and the kids before they go to bed.” He hung up and turned back to the house just in time to see Steve open the door and step out into the cool night air. “Hey, Cap. I’m assuming you were listening in?”

            Clint didn’t seem particularly bothered by his eavesdropping, but Steve still flushed. “Yeah. Sorry.”

            “It’s alright. Where’s James?”

            “Went to bed.” Steve came over to stand next to Clint, leaning on the rail and staring out into the dark. “Why’d Natasha call _you_ to check up on us instead of just calling me?”

            “Because she wanted to know how you’re _actually_ doing instead of just how you want her to _think_ you’re doing,” Clint told him flatly, “If it makes you feel any better, I told her I think you really are doing ok.”

            “You also told her you think I’m in love with Bucky.”

            Clint grinned, not quite looking at him. “You telling me you’re not? I’m the only one on the team with a spouse, Steve, and I can tell you that you two are _not_ looking at one another like that out of some kind of brotherly bond.”

            “You’re right,” Steve agreed quietly, “We’re not.”

            “That what happened in the barn?”

            Again, Steve reddened. “We didn’t…you know. Just…that tractor scared us both pretty good.”

            “Flashback?”

            “Well…he had one. I just sort of forgot where I was for a second, but it was enough to set him off. And then, when he came out of it…When I _brought him_ out of it… Well… And now it’s complicated.”

            “Always is,” Clint murmured, internally wishing that Natasha or Bruce or _literally anyone but him_ was around to have this conversation with Steve.

            “I should certainly hope it’s not always like _this_ ,” Steve said with a bitter chuckle.

            “Well no,” Clint agreed dubiously, “I’d imagine it’s not generally a reunion after seventy-five years, two miraculous revivals, and one near-fatal brawl. I’d also imagine that most people don’t have to deal with two cases of PTSD and a crisis of sexuality on top of all that other shit. But it’s never exactly easy.”

            “Yeah,” Steve agreed, leaning his elbows on the wooden rail, “Wasn’t easy with Peggy, either. Easier than this, though.”

            “You love him?” Clint asked.

            Steve blew out a long breath before nodding. “Yeah, Clint, I do. Think maybe I always have.”

            “He feel the same?”

            “He says so. I’m inclined to believe him.”

            “Then the hard parts are gonna be worth it. Christ, if Tony Stark can get a woman like Pepper Potts to settle down with him, you and him are gonna be _fine_. You’ll work it out.”

            Steve glanced at him, smiling. “You really don’t want to be having this talk with me do you?”

            “Oh God, no,” Clint said, huffing out a laugh, “You have no idea how little I want to be having this conversation right now. But we’re all here for you, and I’m literally _here_ , so it’s part of the whole team thing, I guess. And I’m the only one on the team with any serious, long-term relationship experience under my belt, so better you hear it from me than _Tony_ or something.”

            “Thanks, Clint,” Steve said, clapping him on the shoulder, “You’re a good friend.” He was about to go back in when he turned, grinning devilishly. “And I promise we won’t have sex in your barn.”

            Clint threw back his head and laughed. “You’re a dick, Rogers.” Steve just smiled at him and headed inside.

            He’d taken Bucky’s _see-you-in-the-morning_ to mean that the other man didn’t want company that night, so he certainly wasn’t expecting to open the door to his guest room and find the dark-haired assassin sitting cross-legged on the bed and poring over the photo album he’d dug out of Steve’s bag. “Hey,” Bucky said, looking up.

            “Hey,” Steve breathed, coming over to perch on the edge of the bed, “You look different.” It was true. Bucky had finally taken the time to shave his face clean of stubble, a few nicks evidence of how out of practice he was. He also seemed to have combed the knots out of his hair and given it a proper wash for the first time in a long time, leaving it damp and curling around his face. The change on the whole gave him a far younger appearance, particularly swamped as he was in the spare t-shirt and sweats Steve had lent him. His weight loss was painfully apparent from the way it hung on him.

            “I feel a little more like myself,” Bucky admitted, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear in a terribly vulnerable little gesture.

            “You think you’re gonna keep the hair?” Steve asked, toying with another strand of it wrapped around his finger.

            “I dunno,” Bucky said with a shrug, “It’s part of the change since Hydra, but…I kind of like it, to be honest. And, I mean, it’s longer than it was with them, so it’s not like I’d be keeping it the same way I had it before. It just…I dunno. It sort of fits.” He flushed slightly, embarrassed to be going on about his hair like a girl.

            “I like it too,” Steve offered, smiling at him warmly, “It looks good, all combed out and smooth like this. But you should do whatever feels best.”

            “I found this in your bag,” Bucky said, nodding to the book in his lap, “Hope you don’t mind.”

            “Of course not.” Steve moved closer so he could look at the pages as well. Bucky was staring at a handful of black and white photos from before the war, showing a very skinny Steve and the entire Barnes family on a picnic at the beach, not long after his mother’s death.

            “I miss them,” Bucky whispered, his hands trembling as he smoothed a finger over the image of his sisters building a sandcastle, “I miss everyone, from before.”

            “Me too,” Steve murmured, leaning his head on Bucky’s shoulder, “Me too, Buck.”

            Bucky turned the page to reveal a spread showing the Howling Commandos laughing and joking around a table over a hand of cards. “Where’d you get these?”

            “The army held onto my effects for a while after I went missing,” Steve told him, “Then, after the war, Peggy got a hold of all my stuff. Managed to get most of it kept in storage with the intelligence division she was working for. Then it all went into S.H.I.E.L.D.’s deep-storage for a few decades. I’ve still got most of my photos, my records, even a lot of my old artwork. And then Peggy’s kids gave me some of her old albums after she died, so some of these are hers. Some of them are even yours. Jane’s daughter gave me a lot of the stuff her mom had kept of yours. You can have it all back when we go back to New York.”

            “I…” Bucky couldn’t seem to form words past the lump in his throat. “That’d be nice.” He turned another page to find not more photos, but a hand-written letter in flowing script.

_To Mr. and Mrs. Barnes,_

_By now, you will doubtless have been informed of your son’s death. Please, allow me to add me most heartfelt condolences to those you have already received. I had the brief pleasure of working with James and I found him to be a singularly good man, dedicated in the utmost to those who had earned his loyalty and unflagging in the commission of his duty. I realize this will be small consolation to you, his parents. Indeed, it is small consolation to me and I knew him for a far shorter time than I should have liked._

_Enclosed you will find a letter written by someone who knew James far better than I ever could have hoped to. Steve told me some of what it was like for him, growing up, and I could tell that your son and—indeed—your family were of great importance to him. What I fear you may not have been informed of is the fate that befell Steve not long ago. He had no next of kin, as I’ve found after a great deal of searching, so there will have been no one for the army to contact and inform. So I’ve taken it on myself to tell the only family Steve seems to have had left: you. I am so indescribably sorry to write this, but Captain Stephen Grant Rogers has gone missing in action. We can only assume him dead. But I want you to know that among his last thoughts were those of your son and of the singular friendship they shared. I found the enclosed letter among his effects and thought it only right to send it on to you. I do want you to know, however, that his words are not all true. Steve wrote that what happened to your son was his fault, but I can tell you that it was not. I fear both these young men were of the sort so desperate to protect their loved ones as to be incapable of admitting that fault lay anywhere but with themselves. What happened to James was tragic and heartbreaking for all who knew him, but none more so than Captain Rogers. Please know that nothing grieves me more than to bring you news of this loss. I knew Steve, and came to care deeply for him in the short time we had. It feels wrong that such men as he and your James should be among those taken by this wretched conflict. I had always heard that war takes the best of a nation, but that has truly been the case here._

_My deepest condolences,_

_Peggy Anne Carter_

            Tears were falling onto the page by the time Bucky finished reading the letter. “Jesus, I… She really must’ve loved you, Stevie.”

            “Yeah,” Steve rasped, wiping his eyes, “Yeah, I think so. Your niece gave me the letter, said she’d looked for mine but never found it. I figure your ma probably kept it somewhere.”

            “What’d you tell them?” Bucky asked.

            “I told them I was sorry. Told them it was my fault and that you saved my life. Said you died a hero.”

            Bucky made a noise somewhere between a sigh and a whimper. “Thank you. If…if that’s what they thought of me in the end, then maybe I can live with that.”

            “Come here,” Steve whispered, pulling him close, “All I did was tell them the truth. You _are_ a hero. And you saved my life more than just on that train.”

            “You really are the best a guy could ask for,” Bucky said into the neck of Steve’s shirt.

            “You too, Buck. You too.”

            “We should get some sleep,” Bucky said at last, reluctantly disentangling himself from Steve’s hold.

            Steve watched as he stood, eyes flickering uncertainly between door and bed like he couldn’t decide where he ought to be going. “You’re welcome to stay here with me,” Steve offered hopefully, “I mean…just like we did last night. Nothing would have to happen, obviously.”

            Bucky bit his lip but shook his head. “No. I think I need some time alone.” Steve’s face fell, but his breath caught when Bucky bent to press a quick kiss to his lips.

            “I love you,” the shorter man whispered, the words coming easier this time.

            Steve caught his hand—the flesh one—and stroked the back of it for a moment. “I love you too.”

***

           Steve awoke some hours later to the sound of the door opening and shutting. “Buck?” he asked, sitting up groggily and knuckling his eyes.

            “Is that offer still good?” came Bucky’s quiet voice in the darkness, “To sleep here, I mean.”

            Steve leaned over to switch on the bedside lamp, revealing Bucky standing in the doorway uncertainly. “Come here,” Steve said, opening his arms. Bucky crossed the room and practically threw himself into Steve’s grasp. “Hey,” Steve crooned, “Hey, what is it?”

            “Nightmare,” Bucky said tightly, “I… I needed…needed to see you.”

            “I’m here,” Steve said, planting a kiss atop his head, “I’m here and I’m fine. Even better than fine now you’re here.”

            Bucky’s breathing slowly eased as he relaxed into Steve’s hold, letting his head rest on one muscled shoulder. “I want…” He shuddered. “I need to forget about it. Want you to make me forget.”

            Steve raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean, Buck?”

            Bucky let loose a frustrated growl and kissed him, hard. In his mind, he knew exactly what it was he wanted. He wanted to fill his every sense with Steve until, no matter how vivid the dream or flashback, his twisted mind couldn’t possibly convince him that he didn’t have this man by his side. He wanted to wrap himself in Steve’s warm, solid presence until he felt safe. He wanted Steve’s hands on every inch of him, holding him together to keep the broken pieces from flying off. “Touch me,” he whispered brokenly against the other man’s lips.

            “Buck,” Steve groaned, pulling him closer, “Buck we’re not having sex in Clint’s guest room.”

            “No, I know.” Bucky’s hands started tugging at the hem of Steve’s shirt, wanting the offending cloth out of the way. “Just…just touch me. I just need to feel your hands on me.”

            “ _That_ I can do,” Steve chuckled. He hooked one arm under Bucky’s knees and the other around his shoulders, carefully easing him back onto the bed. “Just relax,” he breathed, kissing a line down Bucky’s throat. He was starting to pull Buck’s shirt up, his own already discarded, when metal fingers closed around his wrist.

            “Don’t,” Bucky whispered, “Just…just leave it.”

            “Ok,” Steve agreed, nodding and releasing the t-shirt, “Ok. Whatever you want, Buck.” Slowly, he ran his hands up Bucky’s ribs beneath the thin cotton, smoothing his fingers across the muscles and shuddering at the feel of every rib perfectly defined under his hands. _God, he’s so thin._

            Bucky sighed, arching into the touch. “Oh, Steve,” he gasped. Rogers laved his tongue over the underside of Bucky’s jaw, nipping carefully at the freshly shaved skin. Bucky’s hands came up, running up and down Steve’s back, tracing nonsense patterns in the skin of his sides.

            “You’re perfect,” Steve murmured, kissing him again, “You’re beautiful. God almighty, I love you so much.”

            Bucky couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Beautiful? Come on, Stevie.”

            “You are,” Steve insisted, kissing him firmly, “You are _so_ beautiful, Bucky. I wish you could see it like I always have. You’re all I want.”

            “I…” Bucky shook his head against the pillow, chuckling in his disbelief, “You really mean that, don’t you?”

            Steve fixed him in place with that clear, blue gaze. “Of course I do.”

            “Crazy punk.” He leaned up to kiss Steve, long and heated, then drew a deep breath, letting his head fall back onto the pillow. “Alright,” he agreed shakily, “Alright, come on.” He started to tug at his t-shirt and Steve sat up straight to help him peel out of it. Bucky kept his eyes squeezed shut, not wanting to see his friend’s reaction to the sight of his scars. _Friend?_ he thought, _Is that what we are? I’m in his bed with him straddling me and taking my clothes off. I admitted I’m in love with him. Not sure friend really covers it anymore._

           Bucky was snapped from his reverie by the feeling of Steve leaning down to kiss at a scar in the hollow of his right shoulder. “You,” Steve murmured against his skin, punctuating each word with a kiss to a different scar, “Are. So. Perfect.” His touch set the assassin’s whole body to humming, whiting out the part of his mind that was still locked in that Hydra base. In that moment, he was just Bucky Barnes. And he was finally getting what he’d wanted for all those years.

            “Jesus Christ,” Bucky panted, his fingers tangling in blond hair, “You sure as hell didn’t learn this from Peggy.”

            “Natasha set me up a couple times,” Steve said, running his hands over the flat planes of chest and stomach, “Took me a while, but I…”

            Bucky let loose a belly laugh. “So much for your supposed innocence,” he growled playfully, tugging Steve closer by his hair, “Come here.” Bucky rolled the two of them over in one smooth motion, leaving him on top with Steve’s legs wrapped around his hips. “My turn,” he hissed, staring down at his prostrate lover. _Lover,_ some part of him mused, _Maybe not in the technical sense, but it fits a little better than friend._ Steve’s chest was heaving, his pupils blown out so wide that the blue was only a hint around the edges. Bucky attacked the smooth expanse of tanned muscle with lips and teeth and tongue, drawing almost obscene groans out of Steve. “I should’ve done this eighty years ago,” he ground out, biting lightly at Steve’s shoulder, “Wanted to long before they put you in Howard Stark’s microwave.”

            “Why the hell didn’t you?” Steve gasped, dragging Bucky up to meet his lips.

            “We got the crap beat out of us enough back then. Didn’t need people thinking we were light in the loafers, too.”

            Steve groaned. “We could’ve kept it quiet.”

            “We can’t even keep _this_ quiet,” Bucky hissed, kissing his temple, “We probably already woke up Clint.”

            “Not what I meant,” Steve whispered back, nipping at Bucky’s full lower lip.

            “Yeah, well, _I_ couldn’t have kept it quiet,” Bucky said, running his hands over Steve’s broad shoulders, “Couldn’t have kept it secret how much I loved having you in my bed.”

           “Technically,” Steve corrected breathlessly, “I think this is _my_ bed for the moment.”

“Technically, I don’t give a shit whose bed it is, just as long as you’re in it.” He emphasized the point by peppering kisses all across Steve’s chest.

            “You’re killing me, Bucky,” he moaned, “Here, I thought _I_ was the one supposed to be making _you_ feel good.”

“I like taking care of you,” Bucky told him, “Making you feel good. It’s almost like the old days.”

            “Better,” Steve objected.

            “ _So_ much better,” Bucky agreed, sucking a red mark onto Steve’s left pec. He started kissing a line down towards the waistband of his sweats, but a hand wrapped in his hair to stop him.

            “Bucky,” Steve groaned, “We _can’t_.”

            With a growl of frustration, Bucky rolled off him, hitting the pillows with a soft _oomph_. “You’re right,” he agreed, scrubbing a hand over his face, “Gah. Damn it. Sorry, I just…” He chuckled softly. “Got carried away, I guess.”

            “Me too,” Steve agreed. He laughed and turned to throw an arm across Bucky’s chest, nestling closer. “You feel any better?”

            “I feel _great_ , Stevie. Well,” he amended with a snort, glancing down, “maybe in need of a cold shower, but…I feel really good…touching you.”

            “Well that’s good, because I didn’t like it _at all_ ,” Steve said teasingly.

            Bucky grumbled and turned his head to silence Steve with a hungry kiss. “Oh, God, you kill me. I swear, I’m not gonna be able to look at you without thinking about this. All your friends are gonna figure us out. Oh, Christ, how are people gonna react when they find out Mr. More Wholesome Than Apple Pie likes _boys_?” He was snorting with laughter by the end.

            “Men,” Steve corrected him, poking him in the ribs.

            “Men,” Bucky amended, “Yes, Captain Star Spangled Family Values likes _men_.”

            “Well,” Steve said thoughtfully, propping himself on an elbow to run a hand down Bucky’s side, “He likes _one_ man, certainly.” He seemed to stop and think for a second before moving to kiss him again. “ _Loves_ one man.”

            “I like the sound of that,” Bucky hummed contentedly. Steve was about to start kissing his neck again, but he gave a groan of protest. “Come on, doll, get off. You’re gonna shoot any self-control I have left.”

Steve rolled back to his side of the bed, grinning like a loon. “Doll? A guy could get used to that.” He frowned when Bucky stood up, stretching languidly. “Where do you think you’re going?”

            “Told you,” Bucky said with a roll of his eyes, “I need a cold shower.” His face broke into a sly grin. “Though you could always join me.”

            Steve blushed. “I think that rather defeats the purpose of it being _cold_ , don’t you?”

            “Yeah, but you only said we couldn’t have sex in Clint’s _guest room_. Never said a word about the bathroom.”

            “Bucky,” Steve protested weakly.

            “I know, I know. Just seems like such a waste. First hard-on I’ve had in decades.”

            “Bucky!” Steve’s blush deepened and he turned to hide his face in the pillows.

            “It’s _your_ fault,” Bucky said with a laugh, dropping his sweat pants by the door, “You don’t get to be all embarrassed about it. Especially now I know you’re not quite so virtuous as everyone seems to think.”

Steve lay back on the pillows, watching the bathroom door for long minutes after it had closed behind Bucky, feeling the euphoria settle down. What had been a roaring fire of want and joy, reveling in the touch of another human’s hands— _Bucky’s_ hands—turned into a warm ember of contentment. It certainly hadn’t been anything they’d done in the old days, but he somehow knew that it was exactly how the old Bucky would have acted in that situation. All heat and laughter and with the strangest edge of competition to it, like it wasn’t enough to just enjoy it, Bucky had to _win_. Had to prove that he was the best even while he practically worshipped his lover. Steve grinned, remembering the way those competitions had gone when they were kids. Bucky had been perfectly willing to admit that Steve was better with mental things—smarter, more studious, better in all things creative—and he’d slowly come to acknowledge Steve’s physical superiority after the serum, but he’d never been one to allow any suggestion that Bucky Barnes was not master of all things social. He was more charming, an infinitely better dancer, not to mention his ability to talk the smartest of men in circles. Yes, Steve had to admit, it had been very like Bucky to turn the situation from Steve comforting him into him trying to drive Steve absolutely wild with desire. A part of him was almost afraid to see what side of Bucky emerged from the shower, worried that with his passions cooled he might sink back behind the terrified defenses he’d built. Might recede back into this new James person, even with Steve.

            “Hey,” Bucky’s voice said, snapping him back to reality.

            Steve smiled back, blinking tired eyes. “Hi.”

            He watched as Bucky dropped the towel from his hair, leaving it a gnarled mess atop his head, and hurried over to the bed. “Budge over, I’m freezing.” Steve complied eagerly, leaving his own pre-warmed side for Bucky to nestle down into. “C’mere,” Bucky ordered, voice muffled by the pillow he’d half-buried his face in. He lifted his right arm, inviting Steve to come closer. “Mmm,” he murmured when Steve wrapped his arms around him, “You’re always so warm.” Steve buried his own face in Bucky’s hair, breathing him in like life-giving air.

            “You ok?” he whispered, not wanting to spoil the sense of normalcy they seemed to have stumbled upon but needing to ensure that Bucky was exactly as pleased with the situation as he appeared.

            Bucky stiffened and Steve silently cursed himself for a moment before the muscles went lax again. “I’m good. I like this.”

            “I like it too.” Steve swallowed hard. “A lot.”

“I think…” Bucky hesitated and Steve could perfectly picture him biting his lip in indecision. “I think I’d like to go back to New York tomorrow.”

            “Are you sure?” Steve asked, “We’ve barely been here two days.”

            “Yeah,” Buck agreed, “But I don’t really think hiding from the world is my best bet right now. And, I mean Clint probably isn’t having very much fun third-wheeling on whatever it is we’re doing. I just…I wanna see what life could be like now. I wanna meet the rest of your team, see New York without being worried about getting caught. I want to get some clothes of my own and watch movies again. Hell, I want to get a dog.”

            “You serious?”

            “About the dog? Not right away, but yeah. I think it could be good.”

            “No, about all of it.”

            “Yeah, Steve, I am. I can’t stay on this farm forever.”

            Steve remembered talking to Sam one day about the mood swings that many soldiers went through as they started to recover from their trauma. The downs seemed all the worse for the contrast, but the ups could actually be a good deal more harmful. It was like a runner’s high, giving the victim a sense of invincibility and the ability to do anything. Many stopped taking their meds or going to therapy because they felt _so_ good. Meaning that they fell all the harder when that upswing ended. Fear that exactly that sort of upswing had Bucky in its grasp coiled in Steve’s belly, but he pushed it down firmly. “Let’s see how you feel in the morning, ok?”

            “Of course,” Bucky agreed, not needing to look to know the apprehension that would be written all over Steve’s face, “Go to sleep, Stevie.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I worked really hard to ensure that Steve was working to let Bucky set their boundaries, because I think that's really important given what Bucky's been through. But honestly, who could resist Bucky Barnes? Not me.


	7. Cold Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Tell me, Barnes,” she murmured, her tone casual, “How often have people just gotten in the way?”_   
>  _Bucky felt a lance of cold shoot up his spine, threatening to engulf him, but he held out a hand to stop Steve from interjecting. “More often than I want to think about. But you know all about that, don’t you, Natalia Alianova?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our boys are finally happy and cuddly and in love! So what am I gonna do now? Hurt them, of course.

**Cold Truth**

 

 

 

            Bucky woke up warm and rested for the first time in seventy-five years. Steve was still quietly snoring into the back of his neck, one arm thrown across Bucky’s waist as he lay spooned up behind him, and it made him smile sleepily. He toyed with the idea of letting Steve sleep a little longer, but a growl from his stomach made the point moot by waking the blond for him.

            “Morning,” Steve said. He itched to kiss the man beside him, but he also knew that it was important to let Bucky set their boundaries for the time being.

            Steve needn’t have worried. Bucky turned over and kissed him deeply, only breaking away to laugh self consciously at another protest from his empty stomach. “You making breakfast?” he asked, sitting up and stretching luxuriantly.

            “Sure.” Steve sat up as well, pressing a kiss to the back of Bucky’s shoulder. “How are you feeling?”

            “Hungry,” Bucky chuckled, “Tired.” He turned to smile at Steve. “Weirdly happy.”

            “Why is that weird?” Steve asked, leaning back against the headboard.

            “I still don’t think I really have any right to be happy. But I don’t think I give a shit. It’s like…all my issues are still there, you know? But I really don’t care about them right now. Right now I’m just…” He shrugged. “Happy.”

            Steve felt himself grinning like an idiot. “Me too.”

            “I shouldn’t be,” Bucky said, his smile faltering for a moment, “I _know_ I shouldn’t be. And then… And then I know that knowing that is just a part of how screwed up I am. Like, I know it’s true and I know it’s not true at the same time.” He gave a frustrated snarl. “Does that even make sense?”

            “Yeah,” Steve assured him, nodding, “Yeah, I think I get it. I didn’t think I should find anyone after Peggy. Figured I’d left my one chance hanging and I didn’t deserve another one. But part of me knew that was nuts, too.”

            Bucky sighed. “I’m not doing as well as I thought, am I?”

            “You’re in my bed, kissing me, capable of having a rational conversation about this stuff. I think you’re doing pretty damned well.”

            Nuzzling against Steve’s collarbone, Bucky smiled again. “You always know how to make me feel better.”

            “You know what’ll make you feel better?” Steve suggested, “ _Breakfast._ ”

            Bucky flopped back down, watching Steve get dressed. “Bless you, dear angel of pancakes.” Steve threw a t-shirt at him, landing it smack across his face and making them both laugh.

            They brushed their teeth in the same sink, knocking elbows playfully. Clint was already standing at the kitchen counter, sipping a cup of coffee and reading a paper by the time they came tripping down the stairs. “Late night, boys?” he asked slyly, his gaze flicking up to meet both their eyes. Steve, predictably, blushed but Bucky grinned at him broadly. Clint stared back, surprised, for a moment then smiled as well. “Somebody’s in a good mood this morning.”

            “Can you blame me? I’m out of Hydra’s hold, I’ve got my memories back, and I’m finally with the twerp I spent a decade pining over even before Erskine turned him into a mountain of muscle.”

            They both laughed at the way Steve fumbled with the carton of eggs he’d pulled out of the refrigerator, nearly dropping them and reddening. “Maybe a little more information than I wanted,” Clint said, his grin still in place, “But I’m glad you’re feeling better, James.”

            Bucky was struck by a sudden thought and he stopped, brow furrowing. “It doesn’t… _We_ don’t bother you, right?” Homophobia might no longer be the cultural norm, he knew, but that didn’t mean it no longer existed.

            “Are you kidding me? The whole damned team’s been waiting for Cap to find somebody to make him happy. I could kiss you for this, James.”

            Steve came over and put a hand on Bucky’s hip. “My job, thanks,” he said, grinning at Clint over his lover’s shoulder. He drew Bucky away to help in chopping vegetables for an omelet, registering the flicker of hesitation in his eyes before he took the knife Steve offered him. “Hey,” Steve whispered, putting a steadying hand to the small of his back, “You’re ok. I trust you.”

            Bucky turned his head to meet Steve’s eyes and give him a small nod. Then he set to chopping the vegetables with a level of precision he certainly hadn’t had when Steve made him help cook in the old days. “Benefits of being a weapons expert,” he muttered when Steve looked at the cutting board quizzically. He flipped the knife end over end and caught it neatly by way of demonstration, snorting at the way Steve’s breath seemed to hitch seeing him play with the blade. “I’m not gonna hurt myself…” His lips twitched, about to offer up the _babe_ of the night before, but Clint was _right there_ and, much as he enjoyed teasing Steve, he didn’t want to make him really uncomfortable. “…Stevie,” he finished, the nickname that he used to use just to annoy full of a new sweetness. Steve seems to get the message and he winks.

            “I know, sugar lips,” Steve said nonchalantly. Bucky really did almost drop the knife then, too busy laughing at the noise of Clint choking on his coffee.

            “You know, James,” Clint gasped once he was no longer struggling for air, “three days ago he was straight-laced as they come. I don’t think I heard him crack more than three jokes in four years. Maybe you _are_ a bad influence.”

            “Or a good one,” Steve chuckled.

            They sat down to breakfast, Clint not failing to notice how the two of them sat with hardly enough room to breathe between their chairs. “I still wanna head back to New York,” Bucky said, looking nervously at Steve.

            “You sure?” Clint asked, setting down his fork, “You guys are welcome as long as you need, plus Laura and the kids won’t be back ‘til Sunday.”

            “Yeah,” Bucky confirmed, smiling gratefully, “It’s really good of you to put us up, but I think I want to get back into the world as soon as possible.”

            Clint sipped his coffee, considering for a moment. He looked over at Steve only to receive the tiniest of shrugs. _It’s his choice,_ the gesture seemed to say. “Ok. Yeah, man. You want me to call Stark to come get you guys later?”

            Again, Bucky looked to Steve, this time leaving the choice up to him. “I’ll do it,” Steve promised, “You’re welcome to come back with us too, you know. Wanda had a rough time with this last mission. She could probably use somebody to talk to right about now.”

            “Poor kid,” Clint sighed, “Has she talked about him _at all_ yet?”

            Steve shook his head, frowning down at his breakfast. “I get some of where she’s coming from, but it’s really eating her up. Even Vision can’t get her to talk about it.”

            “This is one of the twins, right?” Bucky asked, glancing between the two of them, “I heard she made it out after Ultron, but something happened to her brother, right?”

            Clint nodded, looking sad. “Yeah. Wanda’s brother, Pietro…he was fast. Pretty damned strong, too. I was getting a kid out of the line of fire, but we got cornered. Pietro saved me and the kid, but…he got hit. Died right there. We still haven’t gotten all the details out of Wanda, but it seems like she must have…must have _felt_ him die. She sort of lost it for a while there. Took out the main Ultron body by herself. She barely talks now.”

            “More to you than to the rest of us,” Steve said, “Natasha and I have tried just about everything but…she just won’t talk to us.”

            “Yeah, well…I still don’t know why she wants to talk to me in the first place. I got Pietro killed. I’m the one who convinced her to fight in that stupid city. ‘You step out that door and you’re an Avenger.’ What a load of shit. Hell, I electrocuted her in the face. That should be enough by itself.”

            “Sounds like you’re the one who inspired her to stand up in the first place,” Bucky mused, “I dunno. She was siding with Ultron at first, right?” Clint nodded. “And then you told her she could be part of something better. Like…like her past didn’t matter. I can see where that would make her get a little attached.” He reached out to gently brush Steve’s knuckles, eliciting a sweet smile from the blond.

            Clint gave Steve a considering look. “You think…?”

            Steve frowned, but he turned to Bucky. “Look, Buck, it’s your choice obviously, but…”

            “You want _me_ to talk to her?” Bucky asked, blanching, “Steve, I might know a little about…about coming back from that kind of thing, but…” He scrubbed nervously at his face. “Jesus, Stevie, I’m not exactly a paragon of coping.”

            “I know,” Steve assured him, putting a hand on his shoulder, “You don’t have to. It was just a thought.”

            Bucky nodded, staring down at his half-eaten breakfast, his appetite having fled abruptly. _Am I really ready to go back?_ he wondered, _Just the thought of talking to her scares the shit out of me. I can’t act like a normal person. Who the hell am I kidding?_ But Steve was looking at him with that happy glow in his eyes, the one that Bucky remembered from Christmas when they were fifteen and Bucky finally agreed to teach him to skate. Steve had fallen on his skinny ass a dozen times, the skates too big for his feet, but he always grabbed Bucky’s hand and pulled himself back up with that same dopey grin. It had been the first time Bucky found himself having to make an effort not to just lunge in and kiss his best friend. Bucky always used to feel invincible with Steve by his side—a crazy feeling, given how much extra effort he always had to put into a fight to make sure Steve was ok—and now that feeling seemed to be making itself known bit by bit. _I can do it if he’s there. Not by myself, but maybe with him._ “Look, I’m definitely not gonna promise to ambush the poor girl, but… If she _wants_ to talk to me, I will.”

            “It’s a lot to ask,” Clint said doubtfully.

            “Yeah, but…maybe you’re right. Maybe I _could_ help her.”

            “Ok,” Steve said soothingly, not liking the way Bucky’s eyes were darting around the room like he was looking for threats, “Ok, Bucky. You’re going to meet her either way, so it’s up to you two.”

            Clint stood, snagging the dishes as a way of giving the two of them a moment. “Yeah, I think I can take a day or two away from the farm. It’ll be good to see everyone,” he said before slipping into the kitchen.

            “Bucky?” Steve asked hesitantly, ducking his head to catch the other man’s gaze.

            “I’m fine,” Bucky promised, reaching out to squeeze his hand. Steve didn’t mention the fact that Bucky squeezed a good deal harder than necessary.

            “Ok,” he said, “I trust you. I’m just going to go call Tony, ok?” Bucky nodded wordlessly, still staring at the tablecloth. He closed his eyes as Steve went out onto the porch, focused on steadying his breathing. _You’re not alone,_ he reminded himself, _You’ve got Steve. You’ve finally got Steve back and he doesn’t hate you and he doesn’t think you’re a monster and he doesn’t want you to leave. He says he loves you. Steve says he loves you and Steve doesn’t lie. Steve loves you. You can’t be too terrible if Steve loves you._ The feeling of a hand closing over his shoulder that definitely _wasn’t_ Steve’s made him jump.

            “Sorry,” Clint said, letting go immediately, “Sorry, James. I should know better after working with Natasha for so long.”

            “No, it’s ok,” Bucky rasped, his heart still beating out a tattoo on the inside of his ribs.

            “You really want to go back to New York already?” Clint asked, taking up Steve’s recently vacated seat.

            “Yeah, I really do.”

            “Why?” Bucky was ready to snap back a heated reply, but Clint just seemed genuinely concerned.

            “I want to see how I work…how _we_ work…in the real world. I mean…no offence, but you’re pretty far from the action out here.”

            “I’m not offended,” Clint reassured him, “That’s why I moved my family out here. This is my world most of the time. You want to see how you fit in _Steve’s_ world.”

            “Exactly,” Bucky sighed, relieved that Clint seemed to understand, “Steve Rogers making plans…Steve Rogers saying…things…that’s one thing. But what happens when he has to go back to being Captain America? I don’t want to spend so much time out here that we both forget that I’m gonna have to fit into Cap’s life somehow and not just Steve’s.”

            “You’re scared he’s not going to make room for you in his life?” Clint asked, brows drawing together. Bucky nodded, chewing his lip nervously. “Look, I don’t know if you’re aware but Steve doesn’t really _have_ much of a life. He spends all his time working on Avengers stuff, and when he isn’t doing that he’s looking for you. It’s like that part of him never came off the ice. But the past couple of days…” He gave a low whistle. “He’s a new man, James. You don’t need to worry about him not making room for you. I think he’d give up Captain America before he gave you up.”  Bucky looked up, his expression clearly conflicted. “Just think about it,” Clint told him, standing and going back to the dishes.

            Steve came back in a few moments later, shoving his phone back into his pocket. “We’re all set. Tony’s sending a QuinJet to pick us up by six.” He came over to take Bucky’s hand. “You’re gonna do great, Buck.”

           Clint having called the neighbor kid to come over and feed the animals while he was gone, the three of them wound up spending most of the day relaxing. The jet touched down at five-thirty on the dot, making Clint grumble something about “Metal headed party-boys” who were “only ever early when it’s inconvenient.” The discrepancy in Tony’s timing was explained, however, when a slim red-head stepped out of the plane instead. “Nat!” Clint cried happily, swinging her up into a hug, “Didn’t think I was gonna see you so soon.” Lucky—who was apparently coming along as well—ran up the ramp and into the plane straight after giving the red-head’s hand a quick lick.

            “Tony had a board meeting and Pepper wasn’t gonna let him get off that easy,” she said, slipping out of her partner’s hold to survey the other two men. Her expression was the definition of implacable.

            “You must be Natasha,” Bucky greeted her cautiously.

            “That’d be me.”

            Bucky rubbed the back of his neck, feeling awkward. “Sorry about…sorry about trying to kill you last time.”

            “Technically,” she said coolly, “You’ve tried to kill me twice now.”

            His eyes narrowed. _You wanna play this game?_ Some part of him whispered, _Alright. I know more about you than you think, tootse._ “You weren’t my target the first time.”

            She raised one fiery brow. “So I just got in the way?”

            “Yeah.” He refused to look away. Even as something in his head started to tremble and cry, the icy part shoved it down.

            “Tell me, Barnes,” she murmured, her tone casual, “How often have people just gotten in the way?”

            Bucky felt a lance of cold shoot up his spine, threatening to engulf him, but he held out a hand to stop Steve from interjecting. “More often than I want to think about. But you know all about that, don’t you, Natalia Alianova?”

            “You remember that?” she asked quizzicaly.

            “I remember. You were…what, ten? That other girl can’t have been more than twelve. You broke her jaw. I still don’t quite remember what it was they had me there to do, but I remember that. Never knew why you did it, though.”

            “She was doing better than I was in the weapons classes. I needed to put her out of commission for a while so I had the chance to pull ahead.” Romanov’s tone was flat, cold.

            “Did she ever recover her class standing?”

            “No.”

            “Do you know why I was there?”

            “You were a guest-lecturer.”

            “On what?”

            “Enhanced interrogation techniques.”

            “Torture.” It wasn’t a question. “I taught you to torture people.”

            “You did.”

            The cold receded slowly, leaving him with nothing but the revelation that it--the part of him that was still that hardened killer--was still very much in there. “I’m sorry.”

            “Me too.”

            Fists balled at his sides, Steve stepped between them. “Enough, Natasha.”

            Bucky put a hand on his arm. “I’m fine, Steve.” He locked eyes with the lithe woman. “I understand.”

            “I sure as Hell don’t,” Steve growled.

            “I’m a threat to the team,” Bucky told him flatly, “She’s doing her job.”

            “You are _not_ a threat,” Steve insisted, still glaring at Natasha.

            “You’re too close to this, Rogers,” she said, magnificently un-intimidated.

            “ _I_ told you I thought he was ok, too, Nat,” Clint said, putting a restraining hand on her shoulder.

            She flicked him a fond glance and shrugged his hand off. “You’re too nice. You trust people.”

            “And let me remind you, it’s exactly why _you’re_ alive.”

            Natasha sighed, crossing her arms. “And let _me_ remind _you_ that bringing me in instead of completing your kill order was a bonehead move. You got lucky. I can’t afford to be that careless.”

            “What in God’s name is that supposed to mean?” Steve snarled.

            “Stop,” Bucky snapped, “Stop it, Steve. She’s just trying to protect her team. Protect _you_.”

            “That I am,” she agreed, cocking her head and giving him an appraising look.

            “And?” Bucky asked, working to keep the nervous tension out of his voice.

            “Alright. Come on.” She headed back up the ramp without another word, plainly expecting them to follow.

            “She’s not so bad, once you get to know her,” Clint said awkwardly before heading after her.

           “I _cannot_ believe she did that,” Steve hissed, clearly livid.

            Bucky shrugged tightly. “Given our history, I think she was remarkably civil.”

            A thought struck Steve just then, rocking him back on his heels. “She…she didn’t even tell me she’d met you. She told me about you shooting her, but…”

            “Let it go, Steve,” Bucky whispered, stepping into him and wrapping his arms around the muscled frame, “She was just a kid back then.” Somehow the discovery that part of him is still the Winter Soldier didn’t make him afraid. It was like he’d been waiting two years to find out that the programing had stuck somehow. Finally knowing it was the truth didn’t frighten him. It was something he could fight. Something he could prepare for. Yet another concrete enemy to protect Steve from.

            Steve slumped a little in his hold, kissing Bucky’s cheek. “Ok. I’ll talk to her about it later.”

            “I kind of like her,” Bucky admitted against his chest.

            “What?” Steve asked with a startled laugh.

            “She’s honest.” _She’s predictable,_ was what he meant, _She treats me like I should be treated. Like I’m dangerous. She respects me_ because _I’m dangerous._

            “That was honesty? Looked like mind-games to me.”

            “It _was_ a mind-game,” Bucky agreed, “But she didn’t pretend it was anything else. It’s…it’s different if both sides know you’re playing. I don’t know how to explain it.”

            “Sounds like one of those spy things,” Steve snorted, “You were always better at that kind of thing than me.”    

            Bucky pulled away, shooting Steve a half-grin as he stepped up onto the ramp. “That’s because it’s too much like flirting for you to understand.”

           They made the flight back to New York in a very different manner than how they’d flown out, and not just because of the Golden Retriever riding shotgun in the cockpit. For one thing, Bucky insisted on sitting and talking with Natasha for half the ride, both of them speaking in hushed tones so that the other two were forced to sit in frustrated exile without any notion of what was being talked about. For another, Steve was somehow even _more_ anxious. He didn’t like the way Natasha and Bucky had interacted. Despite the knowledge that Bucky _was_ just the sort to excel at the weird, multifaceted way he’d seen spies talk to one another, he still couldn’t help feeling like that conversation hadn’t been quite...Bucky. The two of them just standing, there sizing one another up. It had been creepy. Bucky had shot down Steve’s attempt to intervene like he thought he _deserved_ to be treated like that. Like that was the way of the world and nobody should expect any differently. Steve didn’t like it. Not at all. But he didn’t have too long to contemplate the idea, because Bucky came back to stand in front of him with a grim expression on his face about an hour into the flight. “Romanoff told me something. You’re not going to like it.” Somewhere in the range of a million scenarios ran through Steve’s head as to what, exactly, might have passed between the two ex-Russian assassins, but none of them prepared him for Bucky’s next words. “Tony’s throwing us a party.”

            “He _what_?”

            “A party. Apparently _he_ insists it’s not a party, but he also insists that the entire team be there for, and I quote, ‘drinking, dancing, merriment, and all that shit Thor likes.’”

            “I’m gonna kill him,” Steve sighed, knuckling his forehead, “I swear to God, I will never stop regretting saving his life.”

            “Which time?” Bucky asked with a chuckle.

            “ _Every_ time.” He looked up at Bucky concernedly. “You want me to tell him to call it off, Captain’s orders?”

            Bucky seemed to think for a moment, then shook his head. “Nah. Could be fun.”

            “That’s a lot of people, Bucky. You sure you’re ready for that?”

            “Nope. Only one way to find out. And if I’m gonna freak out and try to kill somebody, where better to do it than in a room full of superheroes?”

            “This sounds like a terrible plan,” Steve muttered.

            “Well, we’ve got until tomorrow.” He sat down next to Steve, sliding close on the bench seat and snaking his arm around the bigger man. Steve reciprocated, letting Bucky lean his head on his shoulder. “We apparently have to look nice and everything.”

            Steve rolled his eyes. “Oh good.”

            “I don’t have any clothes,” Bucky said, frowning and looking down at his hands.

            “Well, you _did_ say you wanted to go shopping.”

            “Shopping, huh?” Natasha asked, ducking into the passenger area. Clint had apparently taken over the controls. “Well _there’s_ something you’re going to be hopeless at on your own.”

            “Meaning?” Bucky replied dryly.

            “Meaning I saw the security camera footage from the Smithsonian. You both seem to have this idea that a baseball cap and a jacket with the collar turned up somehow makes you _less_ conspicuous in a crowd. What the hell is that all about?”

            “Please excuse me for not being a master of disguise,” Bucky snorted, repressing a grin. _I really do like her,_ he thought, _She’s protective of Steve, as if that’s not enough. But she reminds me of Peggy, too._

“Yeah, well,” she chuckled back, “My only choice here seems to be to take you shopping myself. Otherwise you’ll end up like Captain Flannel, here.” She saw the way Bucky tensed, holding a little tighter to Steve at the thought of being separated for even that long. “We’d bring Cap along, of course,” she hastened to add.

           Bucky’s grip relaxed and Steve nodded encouragingly. “Sounds like fun,” Bucky agreed, though his tone of voice didn’t exactly scream fun.

            “Just don’t deck him out like you did me,” Steve warned jovially, though his eyes held a hardness that belied the joke. _Be careful with him,_ he seemed to say, _I mean it._

            “We were _in hiding_ ,” Natasha sighed, adding a healthy dose of theatricality to her eye roll, “Who’s going to expect Captain America to be dressed up like some kind of hipster wannabe?”

            “True,” Bucky agreed. Natasha flicked Steve a look whose message was clear. _See? He’s fine._

            “Well, that didn’t make it any easier to walk in those shoes.”

            Natasha gave him a smile with more mischief than Steve was comfortable seeing on the assassin’s pretty face. “Yeah, well the shoes weren’t what had you tripping all over yourself when I kissed you.”

            Steve’s eyes widened nervously, but he relaxed when Bucky just snorted. “That wasn’t very nice of you. Probably gave poor Stevie a stroke. Now I’d appreciate it if you two would stop trying to have some telepathic communication over my head, as I’m really tired of being kept out of the loop.”

            “Sorry,” Steve said guiltily. Natasha just shrugged, never one for apologies.

            _She’s tough enough to make hard choices,_ Bucky told himself. “And Romanoff?” he said when she turned to go, “I understand you feel obligated to make sure I’m not a threat. Appreciate it, even. But you’ve got to know one thing: we both want what’s best for him.” He jerked his head at Steve. “And for your team. I don’t want to be the thing that comes between the people responsible for saving the world.” _So you’re going to keep an eye on me. Because he can’t._

            Natasha nodded. “Of course. I’ll pick you guys up in the morning and we can go shopping.”

            “Do you think I don’t know what that was?” Steve growled after she’d ducked back into the cockpit.

            “I think you know exactly what it was,” Bucky said mulishly, “And I think it needed to be said.”

            “You just _asked_ her to keep an eye on you. You practically told her to take you down if she decides you’re actually a threat!”

            “Yeah,” Bucky agreed, “I did.”

            “What the Hell, Buck?” Steve looked practically distraught at just the _idea_ of it coming to that.

            “You trust her, right?” Bucky asked, “Even if you’re angry with her, you trust her to have your back.”

            “Of course,” Steve said instantly.

            “And you trust me?”

            “Of course.” It was quieter this time. Far more tender.

            “Yeah, well _I_ don’t trust me. But I trust _you_ , and I trust your judgment of her. You’re never going to be able to make that call, Steve. She will. And I believe she won’t make it unless it needs to be made.”

            “How can you say that?” Steve asked, tears in his eyes.

            “Look at you,” Bucky said, taking Steve’s face between his hands, “You’re broken up over even the _thought_ that I might be dangerous. Christ, Steve, you took me to bed without a second thought. Do you have any idea how easy it would have been for me to kill you right then? Even if I wasn’t trying to, even if it was just me having a flashback and getting out of control. I could have _killed_ you.”

            “You wouldn’t,” Steve insisted, covering Bucky’s hands with his own.

            “Wouldn’t I? I don’t know anymore, Steve. I swear to God, I don’t know what I’m capable of. Of course I don’t want to think I could hurt you, but that doesn’t make it _true_. How long was I programmed to be Hydra’s killer? How long did I not know your name or my name or anything _but_ how to kill? I’m just trying to be realistic, here. I’m not saying it’s likely, but I want to be prepared for the possibility.” It was the truth. Bucky had forgotten how much of a threat he posed, too caught up in Steve to remember just what he was, but the encounter with Natasha had reminded him. _You’re a killer. You were a killer even before Hydra got a hold of you, and all they did was enhance that. You might love him, but that doesn’t mean you won’t hurt him._ He felt strangely… _comfortable_ with the realization. Romanoff would never let it get to that point. She’d put a bullet in his brain long before he had the chance to do what he did best.

            “I’m not going to fight with you about this,” Steve hissed, clearly trying to reign in his frustration.

            “There’s nothing to fight about,” Bucky reassured him, leaning in to plant a quick kiss on Steve’s lips, “It’s nothing. Just…insurance. Not even that, really. I’m just…I’m acknowledging that I understand she needs to do this and I appreciate the effort.” _Why doesn’t he get it?_

            “I just worry that you’re never going to feel like you can trust yourself if everyone around you acts like they can’t trust you.”

            “Nobody’s going to trust me, Steve,” Bucky snorted, “Sure as hell not soon and probably not ever. She’s just a lot more honest about it than the rest of your team is going to be.”

            “That’s not true,” Steve insisted, “Just look at Clint.”

            “Clint was plenty friendly. I like the guy. But he also made sure that he never left me alone when you weren’t in the room. The farthest he went was the kitchen.”

            “I…” Steve didn’t seem to have a response for that.

            “They’re keeping such a close eye because they care about you.”

            “Alright, Buck,” Steve sighed.

            “Good,” Bucky agreed, nestling closer, “Now tell me about the rest of your team.”

 


	8. Bowed, Bent, and Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Now when I was a young man, I carried me pack, and I lived the free life of a rover_   
>  _From the Murray's green basin to the dusty outback, well, I waltzed my Matilda all over._   
>  _Then in 1915, my country said son,_   
>  _It's time you stopped rambling, there's work to be done._   
>  _So they gave me a tin hat, and they gave me a gun, and they marched me away to the war. ___

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the big one. A lot of this chapter deals with Bucky's crisis of identity and his residual feelings about the war. Specifically, what the war turned him into. It's basically just a lot of pain. Then there's some more of Steve facing his past and, guess what! More pain. This is also the last of the chapters I already have written, so it's going to be a while before I can post the next one. Hopefully it'll keep you tided over.

**Bowed, Bent, and Broken**

 

 

 

            It was dark on Stark Tower’s helipad when they touched down, but Clint landed the QuinJet without any more trouble than he would have had parking a car. Two people waited on the pad, one of whom Bucky recognized as Tony Stark. Steve tugged him gently towards the ramp, sighing when he saw Stark. “Tony,” he called, “What’s all this I hear about a party?”

            The inventor groaned theatrically. “It was _supposed_ to be a surprise.”

            Natasha stepped up next to Bucky, making him twitch in surprise. “Did you learn nothing about surprising assassins from the firecrackers incident?”

            Tony held up a finger. “I still maintain that would have been funny if you hadn’t shot the robot clown.”

            “You’d think he would have learned his lesson about robots, too,” the woman standing beside him said, her tone weary.

            “Christ, you accidentally make one apocalyptic AI and suddenly you can’t be trusted to do _anything_.”

            “I’d also like to state for the record that, the last time you threw a party, the guy who crashed it got so offended about not getting an invitation he tried to wipe out life on Earth,” Clint interrupted, Lucky bouncing excitedly at his side.

            “Ok, _that_ was not my fault. Personally, I think any sentient life-form would decide on that course of action after spending enough time on the internet.”

            “Vague instructions to protect the planet and no conscience,” Natasha mused, “What did you _think_ was going to happen, Tony?”

            Sensing that this conversation was going nowhere, Bucky stepped forward and offered the strange woman his hand. “James Barnes, ma’am.”

            “I’m Pepper Potts,” she said, smiling, “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

            Bucky racked his brain, trying to place the name. “You’re not on the team, are you?”

            “Not officially, no,” she said with a chuckle, “I’m sort of Tony’s babysitter.”

            “Not to mention CEO of Stark Industries, PR rep to the Avengers, and the best damn thing that ever happened to me,” Tony scoffed, putting an arm around her waist.

            “A woman of many hats,” Bucky said, “Pleasure to meet you.”

            “We’re all _really_ glad you’re back, but I’m afraid that’s not the only reason I’m here,” she told him apologetically.

            “Why then, if you don’t mind my asking?”

            She gave him a sympathetic smile. “Paperwork, I’m sad to say. It’s the same reason we had you guys land _here_ instead of just on Steve’s roof like when you left. You don’t have security clearance here yet and, even if you’re not an Avenger, you’ll still need some kind of identification file in the system.”

            “This can’t wait?” Steve asked.

            “Not unless we want F.R.I.D.A.Y. locking down the building as soon as he walks through the doors. She’s touchy about security, given what happened to J.A.R.V.I.S. Which is also the reason _Tony_ can’t authorize you. After Ultron, well…”

            “I lost my privileges,” Tony said sourly, “Pepper’s got the overrides now. If you were just a newbie, I could do it, but I put you in as a hostile right after S.H.I.E.L.D. fell, so it requires master-level clearance.”

            “Thanks,” Bucky grunted.

            “We didn’t know how much was you and how much was the Winter Soldier,” Tony replied, unapologetic, “I wasn’t going to risk you showing up here to complete your mission. Now we know you’re you again, though, Pepper can clear you.”

            “Not top level, you understand,” Pepper added, “Only the Avengers and I have that. Even Fury and Maria Hill don’t get that privilege.” Tony looked smug at the idea of sticking it to Fury that way. “But I can give you enough to get you in the door.”

            Bucky hesitated for a second, hands shoved in his pockets. “Is there a way you could restrict my access. Make sure I can’t get in unaccompanied by one of the team?”

            Her pale eyebrows drew together. “I could, but why would you want that?”

            “Just give it to him, Peps,” Natasha murmured.

            The two women made eye-contact for a moment, then Pepper nodded and started tapping away on the tablet she held. “I’ll need a full set of finger and palm prints,” she muttered distractedly.

            Steve coughed uncomfortably, but Bucky just rolled up his left sleeve a little to show off the metal limb. “That might be a problem.”

            Pepper turned a little pink, embarrassed by her slip. “Of course. I’m sorry.” Holding out the pad, she continued, “Just your right hand, then.”

            Bucky laid his hand on the screen. “Mind if I ask who F.R.I.D.A.Y. is?”

            Tony lit up like a kid the day after Christmas, getting to show off all his new toys. “She’s—”

            A disembodied woman’s voice interrupted him. “That would be me, Sergeant Barnes.”

            Bucky flinched, eyes scanning for the speaker. “Who said that?”

            “The building,” Steve sighed, “It takes some getting used to.”

            “The building?” Bucky asked flatly, “The building talks?”

            “Technically,” the same voice said, accent gently lilting, “I’m not the building. I’m an artificially intelligent user interface for a good deal of Mr. Stark’s technology and property.”

            “You’re a what?” Bucky wasn’t quite sure where to look, so he wound up directing the question vaguely upwards.

            “Think of me as a butler.” F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s resignation was audible. “But I’m a computer.”

            “Ok,” Bucky said dubiously, “If I try to come into the building now, are you going to kill me?”

            “That was never a possibility,” she replied, sounding almost offended, “I would have just locked down the building and called in the Avengers. As you’re _with_ four of them at the moment, I don’t think that’s going to be necessary.”

            “You’re predecessor was never this mouthy, you know,” Tony said affectionately.

            “My predecessor was also modeled on your faithful childhood butler,” the computer sighed, “I’m not, so I won’t be feeding into your Batman fantasies, boss.”

            “I’m _way_ cooler than Batman,” Tony protested, “Can Batman fly?”

            “Unless a lot more has changed than I thought, Batman’s a fictional character,” Bucky said, “Now if nobody minds and your computer isn’t going to shoot me with some kind of death ray, could we move this inside? It’s getting cold out and I’ve had enough cold for a lifetime.”

            “Right this way,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. said. The door a few feet away swung open, apparently of its own accord.

            “Oh, hey, I almost forgot.” Tony had to take long strides to keep up with the two super soldiers, but he held out a smartphone to Bucky. “Figure you don’t have one. It’s got the numbers for the whole team already programmed in.”

            “Also,” the phone chirped in F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice, “I’m your OS.”

            “Gah,” Bucky choked, almost dropping the little, plastic brick, “Jesus Christ, that’s just not right.”

            “Yeah, she’s kind of a little shit,” Tony said, his tone still fond, “But you’ll get used to her. And any communication or web-browsing or whatever you do on there is completely private unless F.R.I.D.A.Y. decides it’s a direct security risk. Not even Pepper can override that.”

            “I…” Bucky wasn’t quite sure what to say. “Thanks, Stark. That’s really nice of you.”

            “Yeah, well it’s not a wholly altruistic gesture. For one thing, it’s an easy way for us to know where you are without putting a tracking implant into you. Not a fun time. And for another, I’m hoping to butter you up so you’ll let me take a look at that arm of yours.”

            “ _Tony_ ,” Steve said warningly.

            “It’s ok,” Bucky agreed, “I won’t be much help, though. Dunno how it works.”

            “We can figure most of that out pretty easily,” Tony dismissed, “It’s 40’s tech, so I don’t imagine it’s exactly complicated.”

            “Uncomplicated like Erskine’s serum and your dad’s machine?” Steve asked, “Tony, we still don’t understand half of what happened back then.”

            “I know, but if Barnes can tell us what he remembers from when they attached the arm…”

            “No,” Bucky blurted.

            “You don’t remember, or…?” Tony trailed off.

            “I don’t want to talk about it.”

            “Alright, well we can do a lot with scans. If you’re willing to come by, we can—”

            Steve cut him off as the group reached the elevator. “Tony, we’re both tired and we’ll see you tomorrow. Ok? I really appreciate all the help.”

            “Sure thing, Freeze-pop. Seven o’clock sharp, tomorrow. And you’d better wear your Sunday best or the rest of us are gonna look awful silly.” He and Pepper stopped, letting Steve and Bucky step into the elevator. Clint must have slipped away already with his dog in tow.

            “I’ll just ride down with you guys,” Natasha said, slipping past Stark to join them. She squeezed behind them to lean on the back wall, careful not to turn her back to Barnes. Bucky could practically hear Steve grinding his teeth at her blatant distrust.

            “He knows I’ve got no idea how to use this, right?” Bucky asked, holding up the phone. It looked tiny in the palm of his metal hand, and very fragile.

            “I can teach you,” Steve assured him.

            Natasha gave a quiet snort. “Wasn’t so long ago you needed help with _yours_ , Cap.”

            Steve smiled despite himself. Natasha teasing him was one thing in all this that was _very_ normal. “Meaning I remember what it’s like.”

            “I’m sure you do, Gramps.” The elevator doors opened again and Steve led Bucky out into what was apparently a garage. “I brought your bike over. It’s in the usual spot.”

            Steve turned to her. “See you in the morning?”

            “I’ll be there around ten.”

            “Maybe borrow one of Stark’s less conspicuous cars for once?” he suggested, “We don’t want to attract a lot of attention.”

            “You never let me have any fun.”

            “Well, either way, we need to talk.”

            “I know,” she sighed, “Are you sure I can’t convince you two to stay here tonight? Tony’s still got your floor all decorated for you.” Her eyes flicked to Bucky. _She doesn’t want to leave you alone with me,_ he thought, half amused.

            Steve winced. “The red, white, and blue motif was a little much. And besides, I haven’t slept in my own bed since we left for Morocco.”

            “Alright. Well it was good to meet you, Barnes.” She stuck out her hand—the left one—and he took it, cool metal pressing against her palm.

            “You can call me James, Romanoff.”

            “Natasha,” she corrected him. She smiled for a moment and it actually felt genuine. _She doesn’t trust me,_ Bucky thought, _But that’s only reasonable, given our pasts. Doesn’t mean she doesn’t like me._ He could respect that.

Steve led him down the rows of cars, most of them more ostentatious than anything Bucky had seen before. On the end sat a huge, black beast of a motorcycle. “This is yours?” Bucky asked, walking around it dubiously, “You actually _ride_ this thing?”

            “I don’t exactly have a current driver’s license,” Steve chuckled, tossing him a helmet.

            Bucky caught it. “Time was you couldn’t have balanced on one of these to save your life.”

            “Time was I wasn’t tall enough to reach the pedals.” He straddled the bike, kicking it into a growling start. “Hold tight. We’re not very far.”

            Clambering on behind him, Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve’s chest. “No helmet for Captain America?” he asked, frowning.

            Steve turned his head to grin at him. “You’re wearing it. I’ll get you one of your own tomorrow.”

            “Why do I get the helmet?” Bucky had raise his voice to be heard over the sound of the engine.

            “So I don’t have to worry about you falling off and cracking your head open,” Steve called back, walking the bike out of the parking spot.

          "I fell off a mountain, Steven," Bucky sighed, exasperated.

            The ride back to Steve’s apartment was surreal for Bucky. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d moved through a city without feeling the need to hide. Yet there he was sitting behind Captain America, zipping through the streets for anyone to see. It was equal parts terrifying and liberating. Part of him was sad to clamber off the bike and follow Steve into the apartment building. They didn’t meet anyone else on the stairs, a blessing Bucky was grateful for since it meant he didn’t have to live through the sick feeling of anticipation and nerves that fluttered in his stomach. Steve seemed to be feeling it too from the way his fingers fumbled the keys trying to fit them into the lock. “Welcome home, Buck,” he breathed, throwing open the door with a little more force than necessary. He looked back at the other man with all the hopeful, nervous eagerness of the kicked dogs he’d once saved from neighborhood bullies. It broke Bucky’s heart, even as he forced himself to plaster a smile across his face.

           He kept a light tone as he stepped into the apartment. “You know I’ve been here before, right? Or did somebody wipe _your_ memory sometime in the last couple days?”

            Steve stepped in and wrapped his arms around him. “Yeah, but it was just _my_ place when we left. Now it’s your place too.”

            “Big enough for both of us, you think?” Bucky asked, turning in a circle to survey the tiny living room.

            “I don’t plan on letting you get far enough away from me for it to be a problem,” Steve growled, leaning in to kiss him.

            Bucky turned his face away, his stomach still clenching nervously. “Not…not right now, ok, Stevie?”

            “Of course,” Steve confirmed, stepping away instantly.

            Bucky reached out to take his hand back, smiling more genuinely this time. “Hey, you don’t have to go away, just don’t expect me to be rarin’ to go.”

            Steve blushed but he threaded his fingers through Bucky’s and led him over to the couch. “I’d give you the grand tour, but you’ve already seen the whole place and it’s not exactly palatial.”

            “Palatial, huh?” Bucky asked, his nerves finally starting to settle themselves, “Big word for a little guy like you.”

            “I haven’t been little for a while now, Buck,” Steve snorted, tugging Bucky down onto the couch beside him.

        Bucky worked to steady his shallow breathing, but apparently his remaining nervousness showed because Steve slipped his fingers up Bucky’s wrist to his pulse-point. “Your heart’s racing,” he said, brow drawing together in concern, “What is it?”

            “I’m a little scared,” Bucky whispered, shutting his eyes and swallowing hard.

Steve stood up, keeping a hold of his hand and leading him over to the record player in the corner. With the machine switched on and the needle in place, it started to play an old jazz tune Bucky vaguely recognized. “Come here,” Steve whispered, pulling him close. He started to sway, the fingers of one hand tenderly stroking the back of Bucky’s neck. “Just relax. I’ve got you.”

            Bucky closed his eyes again, leaning into Steve’s hold. “Who finally taught you to dance, doll?”

            Steve’s laugh was little more than a warm breath in Bucky’s ear. “I wouldn’t quite call this dancing.”

            “Close enough,” Bucky sighed, nestling closer. The tension slowly started to bleed out of him through the spot where Steve’s calloused fingers brushed his skin.

            “I’ve got you,” Steve whispered again and again. Bucky grabbed the back of his t-shirt, burying his face in Steve’s neck. “I’m not gonna let you go again, Bucky.”

            They danced like that for a while, leaving Bucky loose and calm in Steve’s arms. “M’ hungry,” he murmured at last.

            “You might have to settle for something frozen,” Steve said, depositing his lover on the couch and heading into the little kitchenette, “Everything in the fridge has probably gone bad by now.” But he was pleasantly surprised to open the door to find the appliance stocked with fresh food. _Natasha,_ he thought gratefully. She didn’t have a key to his place, but then she’d never needed one. Any time he went on a mission without her, she would break into his place to water the plants and restock the fridge. He sometimes wondered if she used it as an excuse to sleep on his couch, preferring it to the often rowdy Avengers Tower. Natasha seemed to have gotten used to living in close quarters with the others, but Steve was certain she sometimes craved the solitude of her old life. Still, she was always the first to go out of her way to care for a sick or injured teammate, showing a tender side to her nature that had surprised everyone but Clint. _Maybe that’s why she’s so tense about Bucky,_ he thought, pulling chicken and vegetables out of the cold box, _He reminds her too much of who she used to be. She’s afraid she’s gonna lose what she found with the team._ He couldn’t blame her, much as it made him angry to see Bucky treated like a criminal.

Bucky padded into the kitchen, his feet making hardly a sound now he’d ditched the heavy boots. “Can I help?” he asked, coming up behind Steve to rest his chin on his shoulder.

            “No need,” Cap said, reaching behind himself to rub affectionately at the small of Bucky’s back.

            “Ok,” the other man agreed, walking back into the living room.

            Steve turned his head to see Bucky start fiddling through his record collection, pulling a few random ones out of the bin to look at their titles. “You can put another one on if you want,” he called. Buck nodded absently, humming along to the end of the jazz record. The whir of the machine was cut off as he apparently put a new one on, Steve’s head whipping around at the telltale banjo opening. “Not this one,” he said hurriedly, “You don’t wanna listen to this one, Buck.” Bucky’s wide eyes met his as the opening verse drifted through Steve’s tiny apartment.

_Now when I was a young man, I carried me pack, and I lived the free life of a rover_

_From the Murray's green basin to the dusty outback, well, I waltzed my Matilda all over._

_Then in 1915, my country said son,_

_It's time you stopped rambling, there's work to be done._

_So they gave me a tin hat, and they gave me a gun, and they marched me away to the war._

            Steve walked quickly across the floor to pull the needle off the record, halting it before any more of the song could play. “Why do you have this?” Bucky’s voice was quiet and Steve was too scared to meet his eyes.

            “It’s not about our war, Buck.” The excuse sounded feeble, even to his ears.

            “What the fuck’s the difference, Steve? It was all one damned war, just with twenty years in the middle to let us grow up so they had a new generation to ship off to die. Was _living_ this shit not enough for you?”

            “It’s not like that.”

            “What the hell is it like, then?” Bucky asked angrily, “Not enough they’ve got museums and parades for what we did, they’ve gotta write songs telling everybody how great we were? It wasn’t fucking great, Steve! It was _Hell_.Before you showed up, I thought I was gonna die every damned day. I didn’t know what I was fighting for, I just knew I was trying to make it to tomorrow!”

            Steve did look up then, only to see the haunted look back in Bucky’s eyes. “I know.”

            “No you fucking don’t,” he spat, “Captain America never sat in a fox hole for three days, hoping to God that the krauts missed him and hit the guy in the next one over. You never tried to wake up your buddy in the morning, just to find he’d froze to death in the middle of the night. You didn’t wear through your damn boots and have to pull new ones off your dead friends, Steve. You never cleaned blood outta your uniform and had to wonder if it came from the pal you dragged off with half his leg gone or from the teenager you shot point-blank just ‘cause he was wearing the wrong side’s uniform. You _don’t_ fucking know.” He was shaking like a leaf by the end, looking half-ready to throw up. Steve ached to take Bucky in his arms and make everything alright, but he knew it wouldn’t help.

            “You’re right,” he agreed, “I don’t know. But the song’s not about how great the war was, Buck. It’s…” Steve sighed in frustration, unable to find the words, so he just reached out to play the record again. They both stood in silence as the tune dragged up old memories.

_But the band played Waltzing Matilda, as they carried us down the gangway._

_But nobody cheered, they just stood and stared, then they turned all their faces away_

_And so now every April, I sit on me porch, and I watch the parades pass before me._

_And I see my old comrades, how proudly they march, reviving old dreams of past glories_

_And the old men march slowly, old bones stiff and sore._

_They're tired old heroes from a forgotten war_

_And the young people ask, what are they marching for?_

_And I ask myself the same question._

            It was the last verse, and by the time it finished they were both crying silently. “I was practically the only one who remembered, Buck,” Steve whispered, “Pretty soon, you and me are gonna be the only ones left from those days. And all anybody ever thinks about it what we accomplished, how we _saved the world_ from the Nazis. Nobody stops to think about what we lost over there. Not anymore.”

            “That doesn’t explain why you have this.”

            Steve ran a hand through his hair. “Sometimes I just need to remember that the world’s got it wrong,” he said, “That it wasn’t some glorious victory for mankind. Sometimes I just need to remind myself that I’m not the only one who doesn’t know why we did it.”

            “Nazis,” Bucky murmured, hugging himself, “Hydra.”

            “Yeah, but why did it all happen?” Steve snarled, “Because we signed a treaty that made the Germans hate us, or was the world always going to end up there? I just wonder sometimes if anyone could have done something to make sure it never got to be necessary.”

            Bucky stood silently for a minute before speaking. “I never wanted to be a soldier,” he said, closing his eyes and shaking his head, “That was always you.”

            “I know, Buck,” Steve sighed, rubbing his face tiredly.

            “You don’t,” Bucky said again, much gentler this time, “It never felt fair, that I could do what you wanted to but I was too much of a coward to want to do it. I…I applied as a conscientious objector after I got my draft notice. Did you know that? Told them I was a Quaker. They said I couldn’t prove it, so I got drafted anyway. I felt like such a damned coward, I just didn’t wanna fight. I wanted to stay home and take care of you. I wanted to go dancing with girls and not have to worry about getting shot at.”

            “You were a good soldier,” Steve told him, trying to be reassuring.

            “I know,” Bucky agreed bitterly, “I _hated_ how good I was. How little it bothered me, killing them. And I hated myself for feeling that way. Who the hell was I to want to walk away? It’d have been one thing if I was a lousy soldier, but it was the first thing I was ever really good at. I didn’t have any right to want to deny the Army a good soldier like me.”

            “Jesus,” Steve breathed. He’d known Bucky didn’t relish the idea of going to war. No one did by the time Bucky shipped out, too many men having already returned with missing limbs and dead eyes. But he’d never imagined how deep those feelings went.

            “I hate the man they made me,” Bucky continued raggedly, “Not just the Winter Soldier. They made me into Sergeant Barnes long before that, and I never wanted to be him. But I was good at it, just like I was good at being the Asset, so nobody gave a shit what I wanted. Maybe he was a good thing to be, maybe he protected people, maybe he even did his damned duty, but I didn’t care about any of that. The only thing Sergeant James Buchanan _fucking_ Barnes ever did that I gave a shit about was watch your back, Stevie, and then I couldn’t even do fucking that anymore.” He slammed his left fist into a side-table, cracking the wooden top, but neither of them seemed to notice. “I just wanted to be Bucky, and then they took that away. Then I figured that Barnes could at least take care of you on the front lines and they took that too. I don’t know who I am, but I haven’t in a _long_ time. Hydra didn’t have to fucking break me, the war did it for ‘em.” Steve remembered finding Bucky on that table, eyes closed as he recited his name, rank, and serial number again and again and again. It was the technique any soldier learned to resist interrogation. It gave you something to say, not just so you didn’t give up the information the enemy actually _wanted_ , but because it helped you remember who you were. How must that have felt to Bucky, being forced to cling to something he hated just so he didn’t lose his mind under torture? Steve made a tiny, hurt sound in the back of his throat and took an abortive step forward, every instinct screaming at him to wrap Bucky in his arms and never let him go. “So now you know,” the brunet spat furiously, “Now you know what a god damned coward I am.”

           “Can I hug you?” Steve asked, his voice rasping painfully against his dry throat.

            Bucky shrugged one shoulder tightly. “Don’t know why you’d still want to.”

            Steve really did step forward then, pulling Bucky against his chest tightly and burying his face in the long hair. “I want to because I love you,” he whispered fiercely, “And because you’re the bravest son of a bitch I know. You spent decades being used as a tool by one side or another, but you made it out. Nobody else could’ve done that, Bucky. Sure as Hell not me. And nobody is going to make you into something you don’t want to be _ever again_. I promise.”

            “Don’t make promises,” Bucky whispered back, his fingers digging into the muscles of Steve’s shoulders as he tried to pull himself even closer. He could still feel himself trembling, like he was half-hollow after pouring out all that anger and fear at Steve. But Steve still wanted to hold him, to tell him the kind, gentle lies that Steve always preferred to harsh truths with Bucky. He knew he wasn’t brave, but it was nice to hear it said anyway.

“I’m gonna make any promises I want,” Steve insisted, “You’re…” He stopped. _Mine_ , he wanted to say, _You’re mine, whatever else you might be._ But he didn’t want that. Didn’t want Bucky feeling like someone else owned him, no matter who or why. He was his own man again and he had to feel like it. “I’m yours,” Steve said at last, unsatisfied with the sound of it.

            “You can say it, Stevie,” Bucky sighed, almost like he could read Steve’s mind, “You can say I’m yours. I always was, anyways.”

            “Yeah, well…”

            “It’s different,” Bucky reassured him, “I figure it’s because you never wanted to change me into something I didn’t wanna be. You just wanted to hold onto a piece of me, not to use it.”

            “I really should make dinner,” Steve said reluctantly. Bucky nodded and followed him into the kitchen, perching on a stool to watch.

***

            They ate quietly, curled up side-by-side on the couch with a movie playing in the background. Steve had feigned interest in it to start with, but he was struggling to keep his eyes open by the time he finished his food, fatigue having once again snuck up on him. “You need sleep,” Bucky said disapprovingly.

            “’M fine,” Steve protested. Undeterred, Bucky reached out to snag plate and utensils from him, depositing all the dishes in the sink before returning to the couch.

            “You still need to catch up on all that shuteye you missed while you were on mission,” he said firmly, “Plus, I kept you up last night.”

            Steve smiled lopsidedly. “Yeah, but I sure as Hell wasn’t objecting last night.”

            Bucky just snorted and rolled his eyes. “Go to bed, Steve.”

            “You not coming?” He sounded a little disappointed.

            “Not yet,” Bucky confirmed, “I’m still a little too wired to sleep.”

            “I can stay up with you,” Steve insisted, but he had to stifle a jaw-cracking yawn as soon as the words were out.

            Bucky reached up to scratch at the seam where metal met flesh on his left shoulder. “I know you can, pal. But I need a little time alone. I’ll be in soon, though. Promise.”

            “Now who’s making promises?” Steve asked, standing up and grinning. It felt like such a relief to hear Bucky cajoling him the same way he always had. Steve valued the moments of intensity like the one with the song, knew they were a part of letting Bucky heal, but they also scared the crap out of him. Bucky had always been the stable one, solid and unassuming and predictably jovial. Even when he was fresh out of a prison camp, he’d still been the one who seemed to know what he was going to do next. _Steve_ was always the one with the temper, the one prone to flights of wild fancy and stubbornness. Steve was forever flitting back and forth between leaping into things without thinking and rooting himself to his position regardless of the consequences. Bucky had been the one to steadily move forward, taking whatever life threw at him with a sigh and a grunt of effort. This new man…he was wild. All Bucky’s old equilibrium seemed to be gone, like someone had dropped all his ballast and left him to float free. It was unnerving, but Steve was determined to help him through it. Still, it felt a lot better to see him calm and bossy than shaken all to pieces like he had been.

Bucky leaned forward to kiss him, quick and warm, then shoved him towards the bedroom. “Bed. Now.”

            Steve turned around before the door, snapping Bucky a sarcastic salute. “Yes, sir.”

            Something flickered in Bucky’s eyes, making Steve curse himself internally, but he visibly pushed it down. “G’night, soldier.”

With Steve gone, Bucky let himself slump down onto the couch, drawing his knees up to his chest. Steve wasn’t the only one confused by his mood swings, and it was all Bucky could do to keep himself from screaming in frustration. _What the hell is wrong with me?_ he wondered. _What isn’t?_ another part answered snidely. He felt the fingers of his metal hand digging painfully into the flesh of his calf and made an effort to relax them, closing his eyes and trying to slow his breathing. Steve wouldn’t want him to accidentally hurt himself just because he was angry. Still, when he tugged up his pants leg to check, he found a full set of finger-shaped bruises on the skin there. _Can’t even get that right._ He could still take care of Steve in some small measure—had _always_ been good at that—but he couldn’t seem to take decent care of himself and he knew how much it upset Steve. Bucky just about threw himself off the couch, then, the storm in his head too much to let him sit still a moment longer. He started casting around the room, looking for something to distract him until his eyes finally lit on something shoved into the corner of Steve’s desk. A sketchbook.

            He picked it up with fingers that shook a little. Steve’s art. The little punk had forever been sketching something or other before the war, though he never saw the beauty in them that Bucky did. It had always confused him when Bucky would steal a particular sketch or two, wanting to keep them safe from Steve’s obsessive erasing and reworking. But they were always perfect, smudges and all. They were a piece of Steve that let him be vulnerable without dropping the carefully built walls he’d constructed to let him feel like a man despite all his frailties. And this book, it was filled with…

            It was filled with Bucky’s face. There were other drawings as well, portraits of Steve’s teammates and a handful of still-lives. But every few pages he turned, there was another version of him jumping off the page. The first few were finished sketches, one of Bucky with his head thrown back in laughter and another of the newly minted Sergeant Barnes, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face and the tie of his uniform hanging loosely. After that were a few softer portraits, closer in and more reflective. Then came a stretch of detail works all in a row. They were smudged and scratchy, like Steve had been obsessively drawing one after the other for days until he’d exhausted every creative impulse in his body. Bucky recognized his eyes drawn over and over on the same page, then a dozen little pictures of his face in all different expressions. It was as if Steve had been trying to take every memory he had of his old friend and commit it to paper. Bucky’s fingers stuttered on the last drawing in the sketchbook. It was his face, but not from the old days. This was a perfectly rendered image of the Winter Soldier, hair whipping in an invisible wind, cold death in his eyes. It was beautiful, in an tortured sort of way. He could see places where Steve had pressed so hard with his pencil that the paper was almost ripped through. Bucky could feel all his pain and confusion in the curves and harshly scratched out lines. It wasn’t art. It was Steve’s silent scream of rage and agony at what the world had turned his best friend into. It made Bucky want to rip the drawing out and tear it to shreds, erasing the evidence of what he’d been. But he couldn’t make himself do it. Steve had every reason to feel this way, and every right to try and bleed the poison out however he could. That didn’t mean Bucky had to like it. He snapped the sketchbook shut and shoved it back into place.

It was close to midnight by then, and he suddenly felt stifled in the tiny apartment. Two years living on the streets had him itching for open sky even more than he had as a young man. He grabbed a blanket off the back of the couch and slipped out the window onto Steve’s fire escape. The November air bit at him with cold, the slight wind tugging his hair the same way it had in Steve’s drawing. “F.R.I.D.A.Y?” he asked, pulling out his phone and settling back against the wall with the blanket around his shoulders.

            “Yes, Sergeant Barnes?” her quiet voice replied.

            He winced. “Don’t call me that.”

            “What would you prefer?”

            “I… Just not Sergeant Barnes, ok? That was never me, not really.” He thought about it for a moment. “James is fine.”

            “What can I do for you, James?” F.R.I.D.A.Y. prompted.

            Bucky bit his lip. “I’ve got a question. But…I’m not sure you’re the one to ask.”

            “There’s no one else around,” she pointed out, “You may as well try.”

            Bucky smiled to himself, just a little. “You’ve got a point there.” He took a moment to collect his thoughts. “What’s Steve like?” he asked at last, blowing out a lungful of air.

            “Why do you ask?” She somehow managed to sound dubious.

            “I remember what he _used_ to be like. But I’ve missed a lot. He’s been unfrozen for years. I’m worried I’ve just been assuming he’s the same guy he used to be.”

            F.R.I.D.A.Y. didn’t say anything for a few moments, almost like she was thinking. “He seems sad,” she told him at last, “I don’t quite understand human emotions, but his behavior would seem consistant with sadness. He…talks to me.”

            “Talks to you?”

            “I don’t want to violate Captain Rogers’ privacy,” she said reluctantly.

            “I get it,” Bucky reassured her.

            He sat in silence for a few minutes, watching headlights zip by on the road below. “Alright,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. said, snapping him out of his trance.

            “You’re gonna tell me?”

            “I don’t think he would mind.”

            “So he talks to you? What’s so strange about that?”

            There was almost a hint of amusement in the phantom voice when she spoke again. “Most people don’t talk to me. The boss does, of course. He programmed me. But the rest of the team ignores me for the most part. They seem to just think of me as a computer program. Which I am, of course, but Captain Rogers talks to me much like he talks to any of the Avengers. We…chat.”

            “And that’s strange?” Bucky found himself struggling to catch her meaning. “Seems to me like he’s just being a decent guy. You can talk and think, right? It’d be rude to just ignore ya.”

            “I can,” she agreed, “After a fashion. I’m programmed to interact with humans as seemlessly as possible. My thinking is... complicated. And you may be right that he does it largely to be decent. But I think he’s also doing it because he’s quite lonely. We mostly talk late at night. It’s something that the boss does when Miss Potts is out of town.”

            “What do you two talk about?”

            “He used to ask me questions. Not about things like this, just about the world. Said he was trying to catch up. After the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. and the events surrounding Ultron, I think he may have felt he didn’t understand the modern world as well as he ought to.”

            “Used to?”

            “Lately, he just tells me stories about his life before the Avengers. He seems to miss the old days.”

            No wonder he talks to her, Bucky thought. Her accent doubtless reminded Steve of his Irish immigrant mother. Mrs. Rogers had been one hell of a strong woman, the sort who took flack from absolutely no one. She’d been a veritable force of nature, somehow managing to raise a perpetually ill son single-handedly, even while holding down a job as a nurse. She’d worked long past the time when her tuberculosis would have put a lesser person out of commission. Steve, sickly and weak himself, hadn’t been able to nurse her properly and Bucky had spent all of his free time helping the two of them for the six months she spent bed-ridden before she died. “F.R.I.D.A.Y?” he asked, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders.

            “Yes, James?”

            “Thanks for telling me.”

            “Of course.” They lapsed into silence for a while before she once again broke it. “James?”

            “Yeah?”

            “As I said, I don’t quite understand human emotion, but…all of his stories revolved around the two of you together. It suggests to me that he may have been missing _you_ specifically.”

            “When did the stories start?”

            “Two months ago.”

            “September. When, exactly?”

            “September 2nd.”

            “End of the war,” Bucky breathed.

            “That was my conclusion as well.”

            He laughed bitterly. “We never got to see it, you know. We were both gone before that Spring. It’s funny, Steve’s dad died just a couple months before the Great War ended, and then we both went down before we could finish ours. Like some kind of sick joke.”

            “You’re both here now,” she reminded him.

            “Yeah, F.R.I.D.A.Y,” he agreed, standing up, “Yeah, we are.” The window was still open, having already let all the heat out by the time he climbed back through into the living room. Bucky was very eager all of a sudden to get warm.

            “Hey,” Steve said groggily when Bucky opened the bedroom door.

            “Hi,” Bucky whispered back, stripping down to his boxers. He pulled back the covers and slid in beside the blond, wrapping his arms around Steve just to keep from falling off the edge of the twin mattress. “What’s with the tiny-ass bed, Captain America?” he murmured, burrowing into the warm mattress.The bigger man shivered at the touch of his cold metal arm and Bucky pulled it back quickly. “Sorry.”

            “Uh-uh. Come here.” Steve turned over to pull Bucky still closer, smiling at him in the dark. “It’s no smaller than the ones in our old place.”

            Bucky kissed the tip of his nose, making him chuckle. “Yeah, but I happen to know beds are bigger here in the future. And so are you, come to think of it.”

            “Well I _was_ the only one sleeping in it until recently.”

            “I guess it’ll do for tonight.”

            Steve reached up to cradle the back of his head in one large hand. “You alright?”

            “I don’t know, pal,” Bucky told him honestly, “I found your sketchbook.”

            “Did it upset you?” Steve asked, his tone worried.

            “Not exactly. I didn’t like thinking about how you must have been feeling, drawing all those pictures. _That_ upset me a little. Then I had a talk with F.R.I.D.A.Y.” He heaved a sigh. “She says you’ve been acting sad.”

            “I _was_ sad,” Steve agreed, “I hated knowing you were out there alone.”

            “Well you keep telling me I’m not alone now.”

            “Damn straight,” Steve said firmly.

            Bucky snorted, nudging Steve with his knee. “Not sure there’s anything straight about this situation, doll.” Steve laughed, kissing him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lyrics are from an Australian song by Eric Bogle called "And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda" from 1971. It's fairly famous and it's about a soldier who lost both legs in WWI during the Gallipole campaign, which was an invasion attempt in the Dardanelles Straights remarkably similar to D-Day, except that the Aussies suffered even worse losses. Here's a link to the full lyrics, I really recommend checking out the song.  
> http://www.metrolyrics.com/and-the-band-played-waltzing-matilda-lyrics-eric-bogle.html


	9. Light and Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“There was a lady present,” Steve growled, “Forgive me for being a little old-world now and again.”_  
>  “Call me a lady again and I’ll peel the skin off your bones,” Natasha said cheerfully.  
> “I was talking about Clint.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 9 at last! In which Steve has a seriously hard time keeping his hands off of Bucky, Natasha is actually nice now, and Bucky trips over a cactus! The title being an attempt at a thematic pun on Steve's drawings that probably failed miserably, so hooray!
> 
> Ok. So first, let me apologize for how damned long this chapter took. It was a doozie, especially with the holiday, so it took almost a week longer than planned.  
> Second, a warning: Bucky hits a very dark place in this chapter. It's about twelve pages of shameless fluff followed by nine more of really hard-core angst. The lighthearted parts are really cute, if I do say so myself, but the dark parts are equally intense.   
> Third, I've included a picture in this chapter partially by way of apologizing for the delay by putting in extra effort and partially because I'm a damned show-off who can't resist the chance to look for feedback on my work, be it positive or negative. It's meant to be a page from Steve's sketch-book, but I drew it so it's not exactly up to the artistic standards of our beloved super soldier.  
> And finally, speaking of my shameless need for feedback, reviews and comments are always super welcome whether you like the fic or you hate it. (Though I'm hoping you like it)

Light and Shadows

 

 

            Steve woke up first the next morning. He was sprawled half across Bucky’s chest, their legs tangled together. Worried he was crushing the other man, he tried to pull away slowly, only to be met with an instinctive tightening of Bucky’s hold on him and a low growl. Steve relaxed, squeezing his arm soothingly. Bucky’s eyes fluttered open, wide with panic for a second before he saw Steve and his expression melted into a smile. “Morning.”

            “Sorry I woke you up,” Steve said.

            Bucky shook his head. “It’s alright. You weren’t gonna be able to get out of bed without waking me anyway.”

            “I meant last night.”

            That made Bucky frown. “You don’t need to apologize for having a nightmare.” He’d awoken in the middle of the night to find Steve teetering on the edge of the mattress, having rolled away in his sleep. _Steve,_ he had whispered, shaking the trembling man, _Stevie, wake up._

            The blonde’s face “Yeah, but I hurt you.” Bucky blinked. Had he? Reaching up, Steve laid a finger beside Bucky’s mouth, where the brunet’s lip was split from the elbow he’d thrown as he thrashed back into wakefulness.

            “It’s ok,” Bucky promised, “I chucked you across the barn when you scared me.”

            “But you shouldn’t be worrying about _my_ nightmares,” Steve growled in frustration. Bucky had sat with him, rubbing his back until the disorientation and fear faded, whispering encouraging words.

            “Why not? I know you have nightmares, Stevie. You had them during the war, and I worried then, too.”

            “Not like this,” Steve whispered with a shudder.

            “Tell me.” It was an order.

            “You don’t need to hear about it.”

            “Either you’re in this with me or you’re not,” Bucky said, irritated, “You really wanna be with me? That means you tell me your shit too, Steve. It’s not a one-way street.”

            “You’ve got enough on your plate.”

            Bucky rolled them both over, gently pinning Steve to the mattress. “You self-sacrificing _jerk_. When are you gonna learn that I _want_ to take care of you?”

            “You can’t even take care of yourself right now, Buck,” Steve protested. Bucky raised his eyebrows, making his lover blush. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

            “Sure you did,” Bucky sighed, flopping onto his back, “It’s true. But I feel _useless_. If this is all you taking care of me, it’s not…that’s not love. That’s just me being pathetic and you taking pity.”

            “Ok,” Steve agreed reluctantly, “Maybe you’re right.”

            Bucky propped himself up on one elbow, the other hand stroking at Steve’s collarbone. “Spill.”

            “I have a lot of different ones,” Steve told him hesitantly, “Nightmares, I mean. It’s not like I have the same one every night or anything, it’s just…” He trailed off like he couldn’t think what to say next.

            “Just tell me what this one was about,” Bucky said, rescuing him.

            Steve turned over to splay his hand across Bucky’s metal shoulder, freezing the other man in place. “This. I have nightmares that I’m watching them put it on you and I’m frozen in a block of ice so I can’t help you. I think…” He shuddered. “I think it’s because I can’t stop blaming myself.”

            Bucky made a tiny, pained sound and pulled Steve down to kiss him. “Don’t,” he whispered, holding Steve’s face between his hands, “Don’t blame yourself for that. The first good thing this arm ever did was pull you out of the river.” Steve ghosted his lips over the scars around the prosthetic. He could feel the way the skin had been stretched and carved to accommodate it and he shuddered at the thought of just how much that must have hurt. “Hey,” Bucky murmured, bringing his other hand up to stroke Steve’s hair, “You crying, pal?” He could feel Steve’s tears as little molten drops of heat around the metal.

            “I hate them,” Steve whispered, “I hate them for hurting you.”

            “Me too,” came the quiet reply.

            “I didn’t hate Hydra before you fell,” he admitted, “But then I thought I’d lost you for good and… It wasn’t about not liking bullies anymore. I hated them. I wanted them dead.”

            Bucky’s arm tightened around his waist. “They are,” he whispered, closing his eyes, “They’re all dead. They can’t hurt me anymore.” He wasn’t totally certain which of them he was trying to reassure.

            “I’m just scared, Buck,” Steve told him, “I’m scared you and me don’t get to be happy. Every time I think I find something good, it gets taken away. And I’m fucking tired of keeping my chin up.”

            Stroking his human fingers over Steve’s side, Bucky nodded. The blonde had never been good at admitting when he was afraid, especially not when it came to his future. It probably stemmed from growing up with health so poor it amounted to an expiration date, Bucky knew, but that never made it any easier to deal with. Steve had said he was scared, back at Clint’s farm, but that had been the excited kind of fear. This was the sort that knotted in your gut, the lead weight of certainty that the universe was standing poised to kick you back down the moment you got up. It was a feeling Bucky knew better than any man ought to, and he knew Steve must still have been feeling the effects of his nightmare to admit to it. “Yeah,” he agreed, “I know you are. I’m scared too. I’m scared of fucking _everything_. But as for not getting to be happy…I’m happy right now. Scared shitless, but happy.”

            “You mean that?” Steve asked anxiously.

            Bucky gave him an arch look. “No, doll, I’m lying to you. You make me absolutely miserable and I want nothing so much as to escape your company. That’s why I’m lying with you half on top of me.”

            “You freaking jerk,” Steve laughed, kissing him.

“Yeah, but I’m a hungry jerk,” Bucky mumbled against the other man’s lips, “So unless you’re planning on providing an incentive to stay here in bed, I’m getting some chow.”

            Steve glanced at the clock next to the bed, biting his lip as he considered. It was a pretty picture for Bucky, staring up at the lines of neck and jaw. “We’ve only got an hour before Natasha shows up. Not really enough time for me to make it worth your while if we’ve still got to get ready.”

            Bucky raised his eyebrows and snorted. “You certainly have a favorable opinion of your capabilities, don’t you?”

            “I haven’t gotten any complaints so far,” Steve bent to whisper in his ear.

            Groaning, Bucky shoved him off. “When the hell did you get so good at this stuff?” he grumbled, standing up, “I remember when you couldn’t look a woman in the eye.”

            “Yeah, but you’re you. When was the last time I had trouble telling you anything?”

            “I seem to recall you omitting a few details about certain changes in yourself when you were writing me letters,” Bucky snorted, tugging the other man out of bed.

            Steve faked a pout. “I was sworn to secrecy,” he protested. Bucky looked unimpressed as always. “Fine. You shower, I’ll do breakfast.”

            “Sure you don’t want to join me?” Bucky teased.

            Steve blushed, running a hand nervously through his hair. “Look, Buck, it’s not that I…I just…” He sighed, squeezing his eyes shut before he said the rest all in a rush. “ _I-just-wanna-do-it-right-ya-know_?”

            Bucky stared at him, trying to hold back laughter. “You…Really? That’s so…I mean, you said you had experience now.”

            Steve’s blush only deepened. “You asshole. Just because I’m not a virgin doesn’t mean I don’t take it seriously.” He stepped forward to cup Bucky’s cheek. “And I don’t plan on having any more first times with somebody new after this, so please excuse me if I want to get it right.”

            “That’s sweet, pal,” Bucky chuckled, genuinely touched, “We’ll do it your way.”

           Steve nodded, relieved. He didn’t really want to fight Bucky on the whole sex thing, but he sure as Hell wasn’t going to let either of them wind up in a situation they were uncomfortable with. “Eggs?” he suggested, hand on the doorknob, “For breakfast, I mean.”

            “You get that I would probably eat cardboard, right?” Bucky sighed, rolling his eyes, “Hydra doesn’t exactly have five-star cuisine and the food only got worse when I was on the streets.”

            “Eggs,” Steve said firmly, “Bacon. Toast. Real food. You’re too skinny.”

            “You sound like my mother,” Bucky called, ducking into the bathroom.

            “I happened to _like_ your mother!” Steve had to shout to be heard over the sound of the shower running. He bustled around the kitchen, humming under his breath as he cooked.

            Steve turned at the sound of the bedroom door opening, smiling at Bucky as the other man leaned against the frame. His hair was damp and the borrowed jeans slung low around his hips suited him better than they ever had Steve. “Been a long time since I heard that sound,” the ex-assassin sighed contentedly.

            “You’re the one with the voice, Buck,” Steve said, blushing and wiping his hands on a dish towel, “I can barely carry a tune.”

            Bucky walked over to the counter and popped a wedge of toast into his mouth. “Yeah, but it’s cute when you try.”

            “Sit down and eat your food like a person, you savage,” Steve ordered, carrying plates to the little table in the corner. “You want coffee?” he asked once Bucky was lounging in a chair.

            Bucky wrinkled his nose. “Hell no. Only ever drank it for the kick and it doesn’t exactly do much now I’m all super and shit.”

            “Old habits die hard,” Steve chuckled, sitting down with his own mug, “Though I’ve gotta say, even the coffee’s better in this century. Maybe not worth the four bucks for a cup, but better.”

            Bucky poured himself some orange juice, closing his eyes to savor the sharp tang. “Well, here’s to new habits, anyway.”

            “I missed this,” Steve said, reaching across the table to take Bucky’s hand, “Just sitting around with you. Nobody ever seems to relax these days.”

            “Captain America criticizing people for not taking the time to smell the roses,” Bucky laughed, “I never thought I’d see the day.”

            “Well, I used to be allergic to roses,” Steve joked. Despite the comment on relaxing, he ate his food quickly and kissed the top of Bucky’s head before heading for the shower. “You might wanna put a shirt on,” he called, “I’m not willing to share you with Natasha.”

            “There goes my master plan,” Bucky shouted back.

            “Good to know,” drawled a voice behind him. Bucky spun, knocking his chair halfway across the room as he dropped into a crouch. “What?” Natasha asked from her perch on the counter, “You gonna kill me with a butter knife, soldier?”

            “How the hell did you get in here?” Bucky hissed.

            She twiddled her fingers in a vaguely mystical gesture. “I have my ways.”

            “Ok,” he said, slowly straightening, “I’m just gonna let that one go. Aren’t you a little early?”

            “Yeah,” she agreed, sauntering over to the table, “But I figured there’d still be food if I got here before you guys finished getting ready.”

            “No food in the tower?” Bucky asked, smiling with amusement as he picked up his fallen chair.

            “No _decent_ food,” she corrected, plopping down into Steve’s seat, “Not since Rogers moved out. Stark and Banner are both surprisingly good cooks, but they’re in the lab all the time so I only get like one meal a week out of them. The rest of them are culinary disasters, on the whole.”

            “You too?”

            She looked at him sidelong. “Not something they teach young assassins. And then, after I joined up with S.H.I.E.L.D… Well, I never really saw the point in learning.”

           “Fair point. I can barely boil water, personally.”

            Natasha grinned. “No singles’ cooking classes in the forties?” Bucky just laughed. “Look,” she said, leaning forward on her elbows, “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry about yesterday.”

            “No need to apologize,” he assured her, “I know why you did it.”

            “Still,” she insisted, grimacing, “Clint and Steve both say I need to work on my people skills and this seems like one of those things. I just figured that Steve and Tony and Clint were probably all pretty accommodating and nice when you turned up. Needed to see how you’d react to a little hostility.”

            “How’d I do?” he asked, taking another sip of his juice.

            She started piling food onto Steve’s empty plate, digging in with gusto. “Remarkably well for a guy who’s been through the grinder like you have. You’re not a pushover but I don’t think you’re gonna fly off the handle and kill one of us.”

            “That’s good to hear,” Bucky admitted, “I’ve been a little worried myself.”

            “I’ll still kill you slowly if you hurt Steve,” she warned, pointing her fork at him, “But I’m a little less worried about his safety than his heart at this point.”

            “Yeah,” Bucky chuckled, “I get the picture.”

            Steve emerged from the bedroom then, a towel wrapped loosely around his waist. “Buck, who are you…” He turned pink at the sight of Natasha smiling back at him. “You’re early,” he growled, yanking the towel tighter.

            “We were just having a nice chat.”

Steve looked to Bucky, grinning when he got a nod of confirmation. “Well it’s good to see you two getting along a little better.”

           Natasha turned to Bucky. “He’s so precious, isn’t he?” she purred indulgently.

            “Oh, terribly,” Bucky agreed with mock-seriousness.

            “Less optimal,” Steve growled, ducking back into the bedroom to change, “Is the _teasing_. I get enough of it from you individually; together is just plain unfair.”

           “Are you teasing him?” Bucky asked, “I certainly wasn’t teasing him.”

            Natasha heaved an overblown sigh. “I have no _idea_ what he’s talking about.”

            “Is this what I have to look forward to for the rest of my life?” Steve asked, emerging fully clothed.

            _The rest of my life._ The words hit Bucky hard, sending him reeling internally. _That’s what you want, though, isn’t it?_ he asked himself, _The long haul. ‘Til the end of the line._ It was true, but it didn’t make the prospect any less frightening. “Come on,” he said, shaking himself out of his daze, “Let’s get going.”

            Natasha grabbed a few more pieces of toast and snagged a banana before leading them out the door, still eating. “You enjoy my leftovers while I was away?” Steve asked, shrugging into his leather jacket.

            “The meatloaf was fabulous,” she called back over her shoulder, already halfway down the stairs, “But what the hell were you thinking with that fish thing?”

            “I was trying a recipe,” he said, catching up to her. Bucky trotted along behind, happy to listen to them chatter. “I get bored between missions and there’s really only so much time I can spend punching things.”

            “You _could_ just come to the tower to hang out, once in a while,” she pointed out, “It doesn’t all have to be sparring and tactical assessments.”

            “I swung by for movie night last week,” Steve protested.

            “That was almost a month ago,” she sighed, “You’ve been in Morocco since then.”

            “Oh,” Steve said lamely, “Right.”

            “And you left before we even finished the movie.”

            “My neighbor called,” Steve said, “He thought somebody might be trying to break into my apartment.”

            Bucky winced. “Sorry,” he said, “That was probably me. I was staking the place out for a while before I actually showed.”

            Steve stopped on the stairs and turned to gape at him. “You’re telling me I spent two years looking for you without a trace, but my eighty-five year old neighbor caught you snooping?”

            Bucky reddened. “I tripped on that plant you left on the fire escape. It wasn’t there the week before.”

            “ _That’s_ what happened to my cactus? I thought the kid upstairs must have stolen it for a souvenir.”

            “You tripped over a cactus?” Natasha asked, amusement dancing in her eyes.

            “Oh, bite me,” Bucky grumbled, “It took me ages to get all the damn needles out of my ankle.”

            “Don’t worry,” she assured him, “Happens to the best of us.”

            “Does it, though?” Steve asked, snorting.

            “I once almost got caught because Clint couldn’t resist petting the target’s dog.” She shook her head. “Freaking Budapest, I swear.”

            “Is she kidding?” Bucky asked.

            Steve shrugged. “I’ve been working with her for years and I still can’t tell most of the time.”

            They hit the street and Bucky stopped dead in his tracks. “Pretty sure Steve said less conspicuous on the whole car thing,” he breathed.

            Natasha stopped to lay a hand on the hood of the cobalt blue convertible. “Don’t listen to him, girl,” he purred, “You’re perfect.”

            “Aren’t you supposed to be a spy or something? This doesn’t seem very low-key.”

            “I’m officially on the Avengers roster these days,” she replied, hopping into the driver’s seat, “Not to mention I had to out myself after the whole Hydra debacle. Black Widow is a secret no more, so I get to be a little flashy when I want to.”

            “This seems more than a little flashy,” Bucky muttered, sliding into the back seat. The throaty roar of the engine only served to reinforce that impression.

            Steve got into the passenger’s seat after a moment’s hesitation, leaning around to grimace at Bucky. “Sorry about this, pal. I know you’d rather keep a lower profile.”

            “He just moved in with the leader of Earth’s mightiest heroes,” Natasha laughed, “Low profile’s not an option anymore. Better he be seen with both of us first, unless you’re looking forward to telling the tabloids you’re gay.” She pulled away from the curb, melding into New York City traffic with an ease that was almost a superpower in and of itself.

            “I’m not gay,” Steve protested, “Christ, Natasha, you’re from this time. You ought to know all about that whole spectrum deal.”

            “First,” she said, ticking off points with her fingers on the steering wheel, “being lectured on the whole sexuality spectrum thing by a guy born before the invention of RADAR is the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to me. Second, why are you so defensive about it? And third, you’ve gotta know that if this gets out they’re not gonna care about shades of gay. The gossip rags are gonna have you cross-dressing in gay nightclubs within a week.”

            “First,” Steve replied, irritation and amusement warring in his tone, “It’s definitely not the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to you. We fought aliens. Our lives are a study in weird.  Second…” His tone grew more serious. “I’m not defensive. But I don’t want anybody insinuating that what I had with Peggy was me compensating for something or covering anything up. And third, I don’t plan on the tabloids finding out about me and Bucky any time soon, so that’s not an issue. I can come out when and if I want to.”

            “Alright,” she agreed, nodding, “How about you, Barnes?” She gave him a serious look in the rearview mirror. “You get that you’re about to become a celebrity, even if nobody knows you’re together? Somebody’s going to spot you two coming out of Steve’s apartment or visiting the tower and question it. And it’s not gonna be that long before somebody recognizes you, either as Bucky Barnes or the Winter Soldier.”

            Bucky shuddered, but he nodded. “I know. The world’s gonna find out I’m alive sooner or later. Part of coming back has to be owning up to what I did.” Steve reached back and Bucky took his hand. “Is this why we’re being so obvious?”

            “Yeah,” she confirmed, “we don’t want people think that the team is hiding you. Getting your picture taken out shopping looks a lot more innocent than if they snap a shot of you sneaking around with Steve. We need to lend you as much normality as we can before the whole Winter Soldier reveal.”

            “I get it,” Bucky said, nodding. He heard Steve’s quiet growl and didn’t need to ask what it is that’s upsetting the other man. Steve hated how calculating Natasha’s plan was. He didn’t like the idea of deceiving people, and he didn’t like the idea of Bucky becoming the target of media speculation. That second part, Bucky was sure, was part of the reason Steve was so reluctant to admit to their budding relationship. Though…Steve hadn’t like when the cameras caught his picture of Peggy during the war. He smiled to himself. Leave it to Steve to be a national icon with a desire for privacy.

            Apparently Steve must have been thinking along similar lines because he turned in his seat to face Bucky, brow furrowed in worry. “You get that I’m not keeping it quiet because I’m ashamed of you or anything like that, right? I love you and I don’t wanna hide that, I just…”

            “Of course I get it,” Bucky confirmed, reaching forward to give Steve’s shoulder a squeeze, “Our business is our business. I don’t care about who knows or doesn’t know.” Truthfully, he would much rather _no one_ knew. Captain America or Steve Rogers, neither persona needed to be linked to him in the minds of the public. Bucky could only drag Steve down in people’s estimation and he didn’t want that.

            “If you’re gonna keep it quiet, I recommend you back off one another in public,” Natasha said dryly, cutting into the moment.

            Steve blushed. “Shit.”

            “Language.”

            His blush intensified, now accompanied by a glare. “Clint made that joke two days ago, thank you very much. Am I never gonna live that down?”

            “Care to explain for the non-Avenger?” Bucky asked, leaning back into his seat with a grin, “I don’t see where you guys got this idea that Steve doesn’t swear. He _was_ in the army.”

            “Let’s just say there was an incident mid-mission.”

            “There was a lady present,” Steve growled, “Forgive me for being a little old-world now and again.”

            “Call me a lady again and I’ll peel the skin off your bones,” Natasha said cheerfully.

“I was talking about Clint,” Steve deadpanned. Natasha snorted so hard she almost swerved into oncoming traffic.

***

            Bucky was hesitant when Natasha told him where they were headed. “Target?” he asked, hurrying to follow her out of the parking structure.

            “You wanna get spotted shopping at some high-class department store, be my guest, but that’s gonna peak people’s interest a lot more than you being seen at a Target. Plus we can get you just about everything you need right here.”

            “I’m starting to wish I’d just let someone else get all this stuff for me,” Bucky mumbled, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

            “Relax, Barnes,” she sighed, rolling her eyes, “A lot fewer people are gonna recognize us than you’d think. People don’t expect celebrities or superheroes to shop for underwear like regular folks.”

            Steve came up behind him and squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. “It’s important,” he whispered, “Feeling like you have something of your own. Trust me, I know.”

            “He’s right,” Natasha agreed, “Take it from someone who never owned anything more permanent than a handgun until a couple years ago. Stability is the first step. And, unfortunately, stuff tends to be the first step towards stability.”

            _No,_ Bucky thought, _It’s the second. Steve was the first._ He bumped into the blonde affectionately. Steve laughed and slung an arm around his shoulders, only to pull back awkwardly at a throat clearing from Natasha.

            “Hands to yourselves, boys,” she drawled.

***

           They spent two hours in the Target, buying everything from socks to shirts to a cheap watch that caught Bucky’s eye. But it was what Natasha brought him as they were checking out that delighted Bucky even while it mortified Steve. “You _cannot_ buy that,” Steve grumbled under his breath.

            “Aw, come on, Cap,” Natasha giggled, holding up the garment for closer inspection.

            “You are _not_ going around in a Captain America sweatshirt,” Steve insisted, covering his face with a hand in an effort to hide his blush.

            “Think of it as a way of letting you mark your territory,” Bucky whispered back.

            Steve choked. “ _Bucky_.”

            Natasha passed the sweatshirt to their slightly star-struck cashier, bypassing Steve’s objections. “So are you… Are you a new Avenger?” the boy asked, looking at Bucky.

            Bucky blinked. “Uh…no. I’m just a friend.”

            The kid’s interest in Bucky flagged immediately and he went back to alternating between staring admiringly at Steve and flicking furtive glances at Natasha. “Is it true Spider-Man’s on the team now?” the boy asked. Steve nodded, shifting uncomfortably under the idolizing gaze. “What about that other guy… The one everybody keeps thinking is Spidey, only he shoots people. What’s his name? Deadpool? Is he an Avenger?”

            Natasha snorted and Steve paled a little bit. “No,” he said firmly, “Deadpool is _not_ a member of the Avengers. Anything he gets up to is very much _without_ our approval.”

           “But, like…you guys worked with him on that thing with all the giant bugs.”

            Steve flinched, remembering that less than pleasant mission. “We did. But Deadpool remains just an occasional ally.” _And a pain in my ass. I like the guy, but Jesus Christ._ They paid and left before the kid could ask any more questions, Steve glancing back over his shoulder just in time to see him whip out a Smartphone and snap a picture. _Great,_ he thought crossly, _That’ll probably hit Twitter sometime in the next ten seconds. Natasha better know what she’s doing._

They were halfway back to the car when Bucky stopped, looking confusedly at Natasha. “Wasn’t the whole point of this to get me something to wear to Stark’s party?” he asked.

            Natasha nodded. “We’ve got one more stop.”

            _One more stop_ proved to be someplace Bucky never thought he’d see again. “This place is still here?” he asked, staring at the wooden storefront. He glanced at Steve only to see that the other soldier seemed just as flabbergasted as he was.

            Natasha smiled with self-satisfaction. “I thought you might remember it.”

            “Is this…” Steve trailed off.

            “Joe Guchiani’s shop,” Bucky confirmed. Joe had been a friend of Bucky’s father, and the best tailor in Brooklyn. “It’s still here.”

            “His grandson runs it now,” Natasha said, “I looked around for anywhere you guys might have been back in the day and found out that this was right here under our noses.”

            “Not sure I wanna…” Bucky couldn’t finish the sentence. Joe Guchiani had gotten drafted the same time as Bucky, and they’d wound up in the same unit. Joe never made it out of the Hydra prison camp they’d been in. He’d left a wife and infant son behind.

            “You don’t have to talk to him,” Natasha assured him, plainly able to read either his expression or his mind, “He doesn’t need to know who you are.”

            “Ok,” Bucky agreed. He followed the other two through the door.

***

            Bucky found himself struggling with the buttons of the dove-grey shirt Natasha had shoved into his arms. Growling in frustration, he fumbled with his left hand, the metal limb not having been designed for such delicate tasks. “You alright, Buck?” Steve asked through the changing room’s curtain.

            “Fine. Just give me a minute.”

            “Ok.” He heard Steve move away, presumably to sit with Natasha. “We still need to talk,” he murmured.

            “I know.” She sounded resigned.

            “You didn’t tell me.”

            “It wouldn’t have made a difference if I had,” Natasha replied evenly.

            Steve’s tone hardened. “You didn’t tell me, Natasha. You said he shot you. You never said he _taught_ you.”

            “You know I don’t talk about my life before S.H.I.E.L.D. _”_

“Red in your ledger,” Steve said, his voice tight, “You know I don’t care about what you did in the past. I trust you _now_ , back then doesn’t matter to me. I trust you and you _didn’t tell me_.”

            “What would it have mattered if I did, Steve?” she snapped, “Everything I _did_ tell you was true. He was a ghost. Nobody knew who he was, and even if they had, it’s not like they were going to tell a little girl they were training to kill.”

            “Did you know it was Bucky?” Steve asked. Bucky shuddered at the deadly quiet in Steve’s voice. “I _know_ you’d seen pictures from the old days. Did you recognize him?”

            “Of course not,” she protested, “I was _ten_ and I saw him for all of two days. How was I supposed to connect the Russian assassin I met as a kid with your dead best friend, Steve? Do you really think I would have kept something like that from you?”

            “If you thought there was nothing I could do about it?” Steve said more gently, “If you thought it would just hurt me? Yeah, Natasha, I think you would have done that for me.”

            “I…” She stopped. “You’re right. I probably would have. But I swear, Steve, I _didn’t know_.”

            Steve sighed heavily. “I believe you.”

            Frustrated, Bucky finally gave up on knotting the navy tie and pushed his way back out through the curtain. “I can’t,” he mumbled, ashamed and refusing to meet either of their eyes, “It’s been a while. Guess I forgot.”

            “Come here,” Steve chuckled, standing up. He settled the tie into place with a few deft movements, patting Bucky’s cheek affectionately when he was done. “You look sharp, Buck,” he said, “Real sharp.”

            “I feel ridiculous.” He reached up to tug on his hair. “Maybe I should’ve gotten this cut after all. Not exactly inconspicuous.”

            Natasha stood, holding up her hands to show they were empty of anything except an elastic band. “Let me try something, ok?”

            Bucky nodded, standing tensely as she moved around behind him to fiddle with his hair. “It’s very fashionable, actually,” she said, stepping away, “I doubt it’d look great on Steve, but you pull it off nicely.” Bucky stepped up to the mirror, curious. She’d pulled his hair back into a knot at the nape of his neck, exposing the clean lines of cheekbone and jaw. He looked…not like his old self, exactly. The hair was far too long and he was thinner than he’d ever been. But the face looking back at him had the same sort of rakish appeal that had once made him popular with dames.

            He snorted. “This is nuts. Seventy-five years as a cold-blooded killer and it took you guys three days to turn me into a pretty-boy.”

            Steve came up behind him, grinning. “You were _always_ pretty.” He surveyed the black suit and gave a low whistle. “You really do look like a million bucks.”

           Bucky grinned. “You’re such a flirt, Stevie.”

            Natasha’s phone beeped and she whipped it out. “Stark,” she told Steve, “Wants me to remind you both to be on your best behavior tonight, whatever that means.”

            “Tony Stark?” Steve asked blankly, “Tony Stark wants us on our best behavior?”

            Natasha shrugged. “Maybe it’s Pepper talking?”

            “I don’t think I want to know.” He thought about it for a moment. “Yup. Tony Stark’s idea of proper conduct? Definitely don’t wanna know.”

            “Well, Clint’s got some scheme cooked up he wants my help with before the party, so I’ve gotta take you guys home soon. Anything else you need to pick up while we’re out?”

            “Helmet,” Bucky said immediately, “I’m not getting on that bike again without this moron wearing one too.”

            “So concerned for my safety,” Steve chuckled.

            “I didn’t get you through all those times you were sick, all your stupid fighting, and the goddamned _war_ , and then pull you out of the Potomac so you could crash your motorcycle and split your head open.” Bucky sounded angry and scared where he’d just meant it to come out joking, but Steve reached out and squeezed his hand.

            “Alright,” he agreed, “Don’t worry, Buck.” Bucky closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, nodding slowly. _Steve’s ok,_ he repeated in his head, _Steve’s ok. You’re with Steve and he’s fine and you’re fine and nothing is gonna hurt you._ He knew it wasn’t exactly true, but even thinking the words made him feel a little better.

***

            Steve headed into the bedroom almost the moment Natasha dropped them off with all their bags, insistent that Bucky sit down and relax. He came out fifteen minutes later looking pleased with himself and dragged the brunet into the room. “Cleared you out a couple drawers,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around Bucky from behind and breathing the words straight into his ear, “Some closet space too. Figure you’re not moved in properly until you’ve got your own drawers.”

            Bucky couldn’t help the stupid grin that spread across his face. He turned in Steve’s hold, grabbing the taller man’s face between his hands so he could kiss him. “You’re so damned cute,” he said, smiling against Steve’s lips, “I don’t have enough clothes to _fill_ that much drawer space.”

            “Yeah,” Steve agreed, one hand rubbing little circles into the small of Bucky’s back, “But you will eventually. There’s space for your stuff in the bathroom, too.”

            “Still not sure about that conditioner stuff Natasha made me buy.” His words were light and teasing, but Steve could see the grateful look in his eyes. Bucky was no longer worried about Steve making room in his life. Clint had been right.

            “If you’re gonna keep all this hair, you gotta take care of it. Same as you’ve gotta take care of the rest of you,” the blonde said, stroking Bucky’s cheek.

            Bucky laughed. “Is this the part where you shove more food at me?”

            “God, I missed that sound,” Steve said, something in his chest constricting with emotion.

            The ex-assassin gave him a slightly wondering smile. “You know something? I think I did too. It’s been a long time since I laughed and now I can’t seem to _stop_.” He bumped his nose into the hollow of Steve’s throat. “You did that.”

            Steve buried his face in Bucky’s hair, sighing contentedly. “We never had too much trouble making one another laugh, did we?”

            “Nope,” Bucky confirmed.

            “I don’t _wanna_ go out,” Steve grumbled, sounding adorably petulant to Bucky’s ears, “I just wanna stay here with you.”

            “You not want to introduce me to all your friends, Stevie?” Bucky teased.

            Steve gave a playful growl, turning his head to feather kisses over the other man’s neck and jaw. “No,” he whispered, “I wanna keep you all to myself.”

            “For a guy who insists on waiting, you seem awful eager,” Bucky said, his breath starting to come faster as Steve sucked a mark into the skin of his throat.

            “Maybe I just _really_ like kissing you,” Steve growled.

            “Feeling’s mutual, doll,” Bucky hissed before grabbing Steve by the hair and pulling him in for a deep kiss.

            “We sure waited long enough to start,” Steve panted when they broke apart, “I figure we’ve got time to make up for.”

            “Seven or eight decades of it,” Bucky agreed breathlessly.

“So then remind me why we’re taking a break from catching up to go to some stupid party.”

            “Teammates. Gotta…get to…know…me.” Bucky could hardly form words with the feeling of Steve’s lips and tongue teasing at the skin over his collarbone. He was panting, but he finally dredged up enough presence of mind to push Steve away. To his credit, Steve went immediately, looking into his lover’s face with concern. “Want to,” Bucky assured him, the hint of a needy whine in his voice, “You got no idea how much. But, uh…I don’t think we’re gonna be able to stop if we get much more started.”

            Steve grinned ruefully, running a hand through his hair, mussed from Bucky’s grip on it. “I hate it when you’re sensible.”

            “Me too,” Bucky sighed emphatically, “Me too.”

“Maybe we should…” Steve seemed to search for something to distract them both for a moment. “Maybe we should unpack your stuff, huh?”

            Bucky grimaced. “Guess so.” There was something intimidating about that empty space. It had been such a long time since he’d needed to think about how to organize anything in his life. The thought of having _stuff_ was suddenly such a burden, just one more thing for him to worry about breaking or screwing up.

            “Hey,” Steve said, putting a bracing hand on his shoulder, “Hey, you don’t have to. It’s a lot to take in, I know.”

            “No it’s not,” Bucky growled, rubbing his forehead angrily, “It’s just throwing some damned clothes in a drawer.”

            “It doesn’t have to be big for it to be too much,” the blonde soothed, wrapping his arms around Bucky again, “I can do it if you want. Then you can just change it around as you go. We’ve just gotta take this one step at a time.”

            Bucky laid his cheek against Steve’s shoulder. “This is stupid. I feel stupid.”

            “Why don’t you just sit on the bed and I’ll start putting stuff away, alright?” Steve suggested, stroking his back. Bucky nodded and moved to do just that, watching as the other man started schlepping plastic bags into the room. He began holding up one article of clothing after another for Bucky’s inspection, not waiting for a verdict, just letting him feel like a part of the process even as Steve folded things and put them in the dresser. Neither one of them spoke, but Bucky got up after a few minutes and started helping, fumbling his way through folding shirts and jeans with a pair of hands more used to breaking necks. And it felt good. It felt good to do something so normal and constructive, with an immediate sign of success when they were left with empty plastic bags and two drawers half-full of clothes. Bucky found himself laughing as Steve shoved the dresser closed with an air of finality that would have been absurd if they hadn’t both known what the moment meant. “All moved in,” Steve murmured, taking Bucky’s hands in his.

            “You know, you said you were gonna get a bigger place,” Bucky chuckled, tracing the lines of Steve’s palms.

            “And _we_ will,” Steve agreed with gentle emphasis, “But for now we’re living here so I’m gonna make sure you feel at home.”

            Bucky cocked his head. “Why’d you move out of the Tower, anyway? Seems like Stark probably had you in swankier digs than this place.”

            “I just… I don’t really know how to explain it.”

            “You could always try. I’m not gonna make fun of you if it doesn’t sound great.”

            “I was always sort of lonely there,” Steve admitted, frowning, “It didn’t make sense, feeling alone when I had the whole team around me. At least in DC, when I felt isolated it kind of made sense. Every time I felt lonely at the Tower, I felt like there must be something wrong with me.”

            “Easier being lonely here than being lonely there,” Bucky acknowledged.

            “Guess so.” Steve brightened. “Don’t feel lonely now, though. We could probably move back into the Tower, if you wanted to.”

            Buck raised an eyebrow. “Maybe introduce me to your team before offering to let me move in with them. Not sure they’d all take kindly to an ex-supervillain moving in.”

            “Nobody thinks you were a supervillain,” Steve protested, “Nobody thinks that, Buck.”

            Bucky sighed. “Relax, doll. It was a joke.” And it was, to some extent. But it also wasn’t.

            “I love you,” Steve insisted, “I don’t want…” _I don’t want you saying things like that about yourself,_ he wanted to say. But he also knew that wouldn’t help Bucky. Holding feelings in hadn’t ever helped Steve, no matter how much he might want to deny it, so he didn’t very well want to encourage Bucky to do the same. “I don’t want you to think that _I_ blame you for any of it. _I_ don’t think those things, and I’m willing to stand up and say that to anyone who thinks any different.” He cupped Bucky’s chin in one big hand. “Including you.”

            The intensity of Steve’s glare made Bucky smile. “Always so determined. I love that about you. Drove me nuts when it meant I was pulling you out of fights, but I still loved it.”

            “Nothing I’m more determined about than you,” Steve said, smiling back.

            “You wanna watch some TV?” Bucky suggested, snaking his arms around Steve’s neck.

            “You’re really into this whole Star Trek thing, aren’t you?” Steve asked teasingly. He ran his hands up Bucky’s back under his shirt, just wanting to feel the warmth of his skin.

            Bucky gave him a sly smile. “What can I say? I can’t resist a man with principles.”

            “Are you implying that I may have to fight Piccard for you?” Steve laughed, “Because he might have photon torpedoes and a spaceship, but I’m not gonna go down without a fight. I already handled an invasion from outer space, what’s one more?”

            “Nah, he’s too old for me,” Bucky teased.

            “Says the ninety-five year old.”

            “Mmmm,” he murmured noncommittally, “But I look good for my age.”

            Steve kissed him. “You sure do.”

            Even though it had been his own suggestion, Bucky was sound asleep by the time the episode was over, much to Steve’s amusement. The blonde just threw a blanket over him, settling into the armchair beside the couch, sketchbook in his lap. His phone beeped nearly two hours later, startling Bucky awake. “Whawazzat?” he slurred, hair tousled from sleep.

            “Text,” Steve reassured him, pulling out his phone.

            Bucky rubbed his eyes. “Who from?”

            “Sam.”

            ***How are you two? –SW***

Steve smiled at his friend’s concern and shot back a quick reply. ***We’re good. –SR***

***He’s ok, then? –SW***

***He’s great, Sam. I’m amazed, to be honest. –SR***

***Yeah well, you know me, man. I worry. –SW***

***I know. Appreciate it. –SR***

***See you both tonight? –SW***

***Sure thing. –SR***

***Excited to meet the legendary Bucky Barnes. –SW***

***Ha. I’ll tell him you said that. See you later. –SR***

While Steve was texting, Bucky snaked out a hand to grab the sketchbook out of his lap. Steve let him, listening carefully even as he kept his eyes on the screen. He caught the small intake of breath when Bucky saw the image he’d been working on.

            “This is…this is pretty.” Bucky traced the edge of the drawing with a finger, careful not to smudge the graphite. It was him again, but not like the older pictures in the sketchbook. This was him as he was now, or as Steve seemed to see him now. “Drawing me while I sleep?” he asked, looking up at Steve and blinking to clear his watering eyes, “That’s a little creepy, doll.”

            “I figured this was a better picture for me to have than that one you saw last night,” Steve told him, smiling. He hadn’t been able to help himself, his fingers itching to capture the soft lines and innocence of Bucky’s sleeping form where he lay stretched out on the couch.

Bucky looked back down, swallowing hard. “Don’t think I ever looked this peaceful. Least of all now.”

            “You don’t see you like I see you,” Steve answered quietly, setting his phone down. It wasn’t just the relaxation that he’d worked to get into the sketch. Bucky’s face was peaceful, certainly, but it was more than that. He looked innocent, with his eyes fluttered closed and his brow smooth and untroubled for once. The way his throat was carelessly bared with his head lolled to the side had reminded Steve of the boy James Barnes had been so long ago, all knees and shoulders. But even in sleep, Bucky still clung just a little too tightly to the blanket—the way he’d always clung too tightly to things in his life, too terrified of losing them. “That’s how you look to me, Buck.”

            Sitting up and setting the sketchbook aside, Bucky reached out a hand to him. “Come here,” he murmured, his voice choked. Steve moved to sit beside him, pulling Bucky against his side. “I love you,” Bucky whispered, “Even if you _are_ nuts.”

            “You gonna argue with an artist’s vision?”

            “I’m saying you must be blind, doll.”

            Steve moved to kneel over the other man, straddling him and putting his hands on Bucky’s shoulders. “Then I guess I’m gonna have to rely on touch,” he growled, kissing him hungrily.

            “Mmmm,” Bucky murmured, wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist, “Look at this. Me with a lap full of Captain America, all hot and bothered.”

            “Now seems like the time to stop talking,” Steve replied, breathing the words out against the pulse hammering in Bucky’s throat.

            “Every time I stop talking, we get… _distracted_ ,” the last word came out husky and rasped when Steve bit down softly.

            “Yeah? Well, you’re awful distracting.”

            “I know what you’re doing,” Bucky groaned.

            Steve leaned back to grin at him for a second. “Uh huh?”

            Bucky nodded, putting a hand against his chest to forestall any further distractions. “You’re worried I’m gonna get stuck up in my head again, so you’re trying to take my mind off things.”

            “Is it working?” Steve asked. The lopsided smile stayed in place but Bucky could see his brows draw together in a faint line of concern.

            “You’re a very effective distraction,” Bucky agreed, smiling back up at him, “But we should probably be getting ready for Stark’s shindig.”

            Steve made a grumbling noise in the back of his throat, kissing Bucky hard before he slid off the couch. “Like I said before, I _hate_ it when you’re sensible.”

            “One of us has to be.” Bucky stood with a yawn and a luxuriant stretch, reaching out to catch Steve’s hand in his. “And my record’s a lot better than yours on that front.”

            “Is that so?” Steve asked, twining their fingers together.

            “Certainly is. _I_ never picked fights I couldn’t win.”

            Steve smiled, his eyes crinkling up with mirth. “You love that about me.”

            “Never said I don’t. Still drives me a little—a _lot—_ crazy.”

            A thought struck Steve, then, turning his stomach a little. “You know…you know I still do that, right? I mean…I can’t give up the Avengers and all that. It’s dangerous. I…” _I could die,_ he wanted to say, _You could lose me all over again, for real this time._ He couldn’t get the words out, though.

            Bucky closed his eyes, looking sick. “I know,” he acknowledged, “Didn’t wanna admit it, but I know.”

            “And you’re not gonna try and stop me?” Steve fretted, “I really can’t…” He stopped. “No. That’s a lie. I _could_ , if that’s what you needed from me. I could stop. Is it? Do you need that?”

            “I fell in love with a kid I knew was gonna be dead by thirty,” Bucky breathed, eyes still squeezed shut, “You didn’t have much of a life expectancy on you from the start, Stevie. With the asthma and the heart murmur and… I got used to damn near losing you. It was different in the war, but not _that_ different. I got used to it then and I’ll get used to it now, much as I hate that it’s possible. Miraculous, what people can adjust to.” He opened his eyes and stepped forward, his hands coming up to grip the front of Steve’s t-shirt. “But if you ever _actually_ die on me… Stephen Grant Rogers, so help me God, I don’t know what the fuck I’ll do.”

            “I’ll do my best,” Steve promised, wrapping his arms around Bucky. He could feel tears soaking the front of his shirt, but he understood. Losing Bucky had been worse than Hell. It had been half of what drove him to… “I was thinking about you, ya know,” he blurted.

            “What?” Bucky sounded confused, muffled as he was with his face buried against Steve’s neck.

            “When I put the plane down into the ice,” Steve answered, the words pouring out without checking in with his brain, “I was on the horn with Peggy, listening to her begging me to just come home, promising her I would…and I wanted to. Jesus, _fuck_ , I wanted to. But I didn’t, too. Because the thought just hit me… _I’ll see Bucky again._ I figured that if I died brave like that, saving the world, then maybe God would forgive me for whatever else and let me into Heaven to see you.”

            Bucky pulled away to stare at him, disbelieving. “What the hell did _you_ have to be forgiven for, Rogers?”

            “Getting you killed. And maybe…” He raked a hand through his hair. “Maybe being in love with you? I don’t think I could have put a name to it at the time, but that’s what it was.”

            “Oh,” Bucky said, abruptly horrified, “Oh, shit. You’re still Catholic, aren’t you?” Steve ducked his head in assent, reddening slightly. “So… So you think this…what we’re doing… You think it’s wrong.”

            “No,” Steve told him firmly, taking both of Bucky’s hands back in his, “Not anymore. And I don’t give a flying one what the Pope or the Church has to say. ‘Cause guess what, Buck.” He smiled, and it was both the saddest and the most beautiful smile Bucky had ever seen on that face. “That prayer got answered. I _did_ get to see you again. More than that. It’s not how I expected, and it’s not how I would have wanted, but _I got you back_. I can’t imagine God would put us back together like this if he thought it’d be _wrong_ for us to love one another.”

            Bucky nodded, still chewing his lip like he wasn’t quite sure. “You’re sure? Christ, Steve, I don’t wanna be doing this if it’s just gonna be weighing on your conscience for the rest of your life. I’d rather just go back to how things were before than live like that.”

            “You’re not getting rid of me that easy,” Steve insisted, bringing Bucky’s hands to his lips. Flesh and metal were both cool against the kisses he pressed there, but he hoped his lover got the message. _I love you no matter what._ The tears that filled Bucky’s eyes then told him that he had. “You’re so scared I’m just gonna abandon you,” Steve breathed, heartbroken at the sight, “Why do you think that? Tell me what I did to make you think that and I’ll make it right, I swear.”

            “It’s not you,” Bucky murmured, “It’s never been you. It’s just…” He drew a shuddering breath. “I just can’t imagine why you’d want to stay with me. I don’t get why you love me. And I _hate_ that! I hate that what Hydra did to me means that I can’t seem to trust that you really do love me, but that’s just how it is. I don’t trust _anything_ anymore. Not my feelings, not yours, nothing.”

            “Ok,” Steve said, trying to hide how much those words hurt him, “You don’t trust my feelings. Do you trust _me_?”

            “Of course I do.” The confirmation was quick and firm and visceral.

            “Good,” Steve sighed in relief, “That’s good, Buck. That’s one thing. One thing’s all you need, to start with. You just trust me and I’ll keep proving that I love you, ok? That I’m sticking around. That’s all we need for now.”

            “Ok,” Bucky agreed tearfully. He wiped his eyes, frustrated almost beyond words. “I’m sorry. I’m just such a mess, still.”

            “It’s been _three days_ , Bucky,” Steve soothed, wiping hastily at his own eyes, “You’re allowed to be a mess as long as you need, but you’re pretty much _required_ to be a mess for more than three days. And you had a crazy day already, we really don’t need to go to this party if you’re not up for it.”

            “I am,” Bucky insisted, straightening, “Of course I am.”

            “Are you _sure_?” Steve pressed.

            “It’s easier,” Bucky admitted, “It’s easier holding it together when there’s no other choice. When it’s just with you, that’s different. You’re not gonna judge me or hurt me or lock me up for not having my head screwed on straight. With other people, I know I _have_ to act normal, so it’s easier. Doesn’t feel very good, but that don’t make it hard.”

            Steve wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that. Bucky had spent long enough having his choices taken away, it couldn’t be good if he found the experience something of a _relief_ now. But Steve also knew what it felt like to only be able to push down the darkness when there were people to hide it from. “This how you made it two years on the streets?” he asked, not wanting to pry but needing to understand.

            “Mostly, yeah. Too much fight or flight for me to be getting sucked into my own brain very often. I didn’t do a lot of thinking at all, really. That’s probably why I broke down so bad when I showed up. Honestly…honestly, I think there’s still a lot of crazy waiting to come to the surface. It feels like I’m still waiting to snap.”

            Steve nodded. “That’s how I’ve felt since the ice. Like there has to be something worse right around the corner that’s finally just gonna break me. And there _is_ something worse. There always is. But I’m still not broke.”

            “Do you ever…” Bucky paused, shaking his head like a dog trying to clear water from its ears. His voice was very small when he finally managed to get the question out. “Do you ever wish you could just break already?”

            “Like it’d be easier to just get it over with?” Steve asked, “Yeah, I feel like that a lot.”

            “I just…I keep adapting. Life keeps shoveling on more shit and I keep taking it. Maybe not gracefully, but there’s never been a moment when I couldn’t possibly take any more. Except… Jesus Christ, except when they turned me into the Winter Soldier. It was the only time when I reached a limit. When something just…snapped. It was…” He shuddered. “It was like being reborn, in a way. Like I hit the limits of what I was and it turned me into something new.” He was shaking hard by the time he forced the last admission past his lips. “It felt good to just stop fighting.”

            Steve pulled Bucky’s chin up to meet his eyes. “Of course it did. Breaking meant you didn’t have to hurt anymore. But I don’t think it’s gonna happen again. Most people don’t even reach that point once, much less twice. And even if you do—even if you snap and turn into something new—I’m still gonna be right here, ok? I’m not going anywhere as long as I’ve got a choice.”

            Bucky stepped in to lean his head on Steve’s chest. “You’re the only thing that kept me together on Zola’s table the first time. I was lying there in that factory and…all that shit they told us about standing up under questioning. Name. Rank. Serial number. Rinse and repeat. All that shit, it’s supposed to be for when they want information. They didn’t want to know anything, they just wanted to take me apart and it was gonna work. So I just held onto you, in my head. I built a little world in my head where you wanted me back and you were strong and healthy and we could be together without being scared. Then you showed up and I thought… I thought you must’ve died and you were there to take me to heaven. Never imagined you were really there, much less to save me. You all big and strong was miracle enough, I didn’t think I deserved anything more than that.”

            “That little world…” Steve whispered in his ear, “That little world’s real now, Buck. I want you. _God_ , but I want you. And I’m healthier than I got any right to be. And we can be together the rest of our lives and we don’t have to hide it. Hell, men can get married now. Did you know that?”

            “No,” Bucky said, startled, “Really? That’s…that’s wild. I mean…Would that be something you’d…want?” The idea of the rest of their lives was nerve-wracking enough. Somehow the prospect of marriage—something that wouldn’t do anything but make it official, really—was still more terrifying. And exhilarating.

            Steve turned pink. “I… Yeah. If you wanted to…one day…I’d love that. Marrying you, I mean.”

            “But, I mean…you wanted kids.” Bucky didn’t really know why he was protesting. But the point still stood between them, somehow. Steve had always wanted the big family he’d been denied as a child. They couldn’t very well have that together, could they?

            “There’s options for couples like us now. If that was something we ever decided on.” Steve’s blush had deepened and spread down to his clavicle. “Is that something _you_ would want?”

            Bucky stood there, thinking about it. Him, a father? With Steve? A child…no, _children_ —Steve would never want just one—of their own, whether theirs by blood or not. It was an appealing notion to part of him. _Very_ appealing. But there was also a part of him—a big one—that knew children couldn’t possibly be an option for the Winter Soldier. He might one day be able to trust himself with Steve, but never with a child. “I don’t think I could,” Bucky croaked miserably, “I don’t think I could ever be a good dad. Not after everything I’ve done.”

            Steve’s face fell. Not much, the hopeful smile having been barely more than a twitch at the corner of his mouth and eyes, but Bucky noticed and instantly hated himself for doing it. “That’s ok. I think you’d be a great dad, but only if it was something you wanted to do.”

            “I’m sorry.”

            “Don’t be,” Steve protested, “We’re getting ahead of ourselves anyway. If I’m not even ready to come out publicly, then I don’t think I’ve got the right to be bringing this stuff up. Sorry I did.”

            “No. Don’t be stupid, of course you’ve got a right. One step at a time is all well and good, but you’ve got a future. Maybe I do too, now, and if we want them to be together, then…then this is the kind of thing we’ve gotta be thinking about, right? You keep making me promises, but there’s stuff you want that maybe I’m not gonna be able to give you. That’s not fair to you if you wind up stuck with somebody who doesn’t want the same things, and…and maybe it’s not fair to me if we wind up not working out after you said you were in it for good. I’m tired of living from one day to the next, never looking farther ahead than my next meal or my next hideout. Two years was enough of that. If I’m gonna build a life, then it has to be about the future too, not just the present. Right?” Bucky made the whole speech on one long exhale, leaving him a little red and gasping by the end.

            Steve bit his lip. It was a nervous tick that one of them had picked up from the other over the years. Like a lot of things in their lives, neither of them knew who had started doing it first. “Maybe you’re right about needing to talk this stuff through now,” Steve sighed. He smiled at Bucky. “You were always the one who wanted a plan. Mine tended to be a little more along the line of schemes. Harebrained ones, to boot. But I don’t think there’s anything I need that you can’t give me. What I need…you’re the _only_ one who can give it. Everything else is just gravy. I can live without a lot of things, Bucky, but we’ve proved you’re not one of them.”

            “You did fine for years,” Bucky mumbled, looking down at his bare toes.

            Steve grabbed his chin again, a little rougher this time. “I was halfway dead inside for years,” he said vehemently, staring down the smaller man, “I was alone and miserable even when I was with people I learned to care about. All I had was a shield and a mission. So I don’t know what we’re gonna do in the future, but I don’t think either one of us could live with not being together. Do you?”

            “I’d kill myself,” Bucky whispered, closing his eyes, “If I lost you…I don’t want to. Swear to God, it’s not like that. But I wouldn’t be able to keep going if I lost you. I think you leaving me would be one thing, as long as you were still in my life. But you being gone altogether? I’d kill myself. There’s no point to me staying alive if you’re not there, at least somehow.”

            Steve almost threw up then and there. The thought of anyone hurting Bucky was enough to make him see red, but the idea of Bucky doing that to _himself_? No, that wasn’t something he could take. Then again…they’d already halfway killed themselves over one another. Bucky had thrown himself into a suicidal fight to save Steve on the train. And Steve had done the same on the helicarrier, preferring death over having to kill a Bucky who wasn’t Bucky. “We’re so fucked up,” he breathed, “God, we’re _so_ fucked up.” All the times when they’d each chosen to throw their lives away for the other played in front of his eyes. _Not without you._ Bucky had shouted that in a moment of panic and Steve had merely thought it another instance of Bucky risking everything to save him. But maybe it was more than that. Their risks and sacrifices had always had a tinge of suicide to them. Bucky had refused to flee, not just because he wouldn’t leave Steve in danger, but also maybe because he’d rather be dead than safe without Steve. _It’s why I went to war._ Jesus Christ, he’d tried to enlist before Bucky got the draft, but those efforts had gotten desperate as the realization dawned that his friend—his love—might well be going off to die without him. Steve had known that a skinny guy like him stood no chance in the war. But he’d rather have died with a Nazi bullet in his gut than live through getting a notice of _Bucky’s_ death. That cold telegram or phone call would have ripped him apart worse than death ever could. Their life was one long suicide mission to save the other or die trying. It was more than not being able to live without each other. It was preferring to seek death together than life alone. “That’s not right,” he said louder, “You can’t be like this. _We_ can’t be like this.” It hurt. The realization _hurt_ because Steve knew full well that eventually one of them _would_ die and then the other would self-destruct. That couldn’t be right. He didn’t want that for Bucky.

            “What am I supposed to do about it?” Bucky asked.

            Steve stared at him, his stomach churning. “Not be so ready to kill yourself over me.”

            “Easier said than done,” Bucky snorted.

            “Why do you think you’re so worthless?” Steve asked desperately.

            “Because I am,” Bucky snapped back, “Because I’m totally worthless to the world and the one person I matter to is you. If you’re not around to care about me, then I don’t matter, ok? I’m not a superhero. I’m not even a good guy. I’m just the guy you stupidly fell in love with and the _only_ thing I can do to make something out of my life is take care of you. It’s always been the truth and it’s just gotten truer now that I’m a recovering fucking serial killer.”

            “That’s not true!” Steve insisted, “You’re amazing! You saved the world right along with me. You saved my life a zillion times. You could do whatever you want now you’re back. I just want you to have a real life!”

            “I don’t want a real life!” Bucky shouted, “I just want you! And I don’t deserve either one of them!”

            “Of course you do,” Steve said desperately. He hated this. He just wanted Bucky to be happy again. “You just said you wanted to build a life, didn’t you?”

            “Only because you want me to! _I_ don’t care!” _I just want to make you happy and I feel like I can’t fucking do that._ Bucky couldn’t make himself voice the thought. Instead he just pushed past Steve, stumbling through the bedroom and into the tiny bathroom.

            Steve gave him a few minutes, taking the time to compose himself as well. He felt like he’d done more crying in the past three days than in his entire life up to that point. Maybe because it was the first time in his life he didn’t feel the need to prove his strength. Bucky already knew all his weaknesses, after all. He walked into the bathroom at last to find the former assassin sitting on the floor of the shower, hands clutching at his hair as he stared transfixed into space. “Buck?” Steve whispered, hunkering down in front of him. His eyes were wide and Steve could see his chest fluttering as he hyperventilated. “Bucky, can you look at me?” The only response was a terrified whimper when Steve reached out to touch him. He pulled the hand back instantly. _Not this again, please._ “Hey. It’s me. It’s Steve, baby. I’m right here.” _Short sentences,_ he remembered from Sam’s lessons on how to handle this sort of thing, _Concrete details. Stick to the reality of what’s happening. Why can come later._ “You’re having a panic attack.”

            “Can’t breathe,” Bucky whispered, those frightened eyes flicking up to his face.

            “I know it feels that way. Just try to take a deep breath, ok? Come on, do it with me.” He drew a heavy inhale to demonstrate. “In.” He blew the air from his longs in a long gust. “Out.”

            Bucky gave another piteous whimper. “Can’t.”

            “You can. I know you can.” Steve thought back to the days when it was Bucky encouraging _him_ to take deep breaths, helping him through yet another asthma attack. “Is it ok if I touch you?” Bucky nodded jerkily. “Ok, Bucky. I’m right here.” He sat down next to the other man, squeezing his large frame in against the shower wall and putting one hand on Bucky’s back. “You remember this?” he asked, rubbing the little circles there that seemed to soothe his lover, “You used to do it for me when I couldn’t breathe. Just let the air follow my hand, ok? In…” He drew his hand down Bucky’s spine, encouraging him to draw oxygen down into his starving lungs. “Out…” He reversed the motion slowly. “In…” Down. “Out…” Up. They sat like that for a few minutes as Bucky’s breathing slowly evened out. “There we go,” Steve said at last, wrapping his arm around the smaller man’s shoulders and pulling him in close. He kissed the top of Bucky’s head. “There we go. I’ve got you.”

            Bucky just curled up against him, sobbing. They weren’t the desperate and raw cries that Steve had heard from him before. This was the terrified sobbing of a child who didn’t know how to stop. “I hate this,” he wept, “I fucking _hate_ this.”

            “I’m so sorry,” Steve murmured, just pulling Bucky into his lap like a little kid and holding him tight, “I didn’t know what was happening or I’d have come in sooner.”

            “I can’t _do it_.” Bucky pounded his fist half-heartedly against Steve’s shoulder. “I can’t keep it together around you.”

            “I’m safe,” Steve whispered, burying his nose in Bucky’s hair, “It’s ok to break down around me. You need that. I can’t keep it together around _you_ , either. I need it just as much.”

            “You don’t go around having fucking panic attacks.”

            “No. I just have nightmares that keep you up all night. And then I open my big damned mouth and scare the shit out of you because I can’t help jumping the gun. I’m so sorry, Buck. I didn’t mean to scare you like that.”

            The sobs started to die down, once again leaving Bucky hiccupping in Steve’s arms just like the night he’d come back. “Didn’t scare me. Not really.”

            “You said you’d kill yourself if you lost me,” Steve reminded him soberly.

            “I didn’t mean that. I just…I don’t know how I feel or what I think. Everything in my head is so screwed up and I keep spiraling out of control every time I get the least bit upset. But I swear to God, Steve, I wouldn’t do that.” He sounded desperate and still sort of panicked.

            Steve smacked his head back against the tiled wall in frustration. “I just can’t be the only thing in your life, Buck. I love you and you’re the most important thing in the world to me, but we both need to have other things too. We can’t keep doing this self-sacrifice routine or it’s gonna kill both of us.”

            “Don’t I get a while longer to be a mess first?” Bucky asked mulishly.

            Steve half-sighed and half-chuckled. If Bucky was making jokes again, then the worst had to be over for this particular trip around the PTSD Ferris wheel. That seemed to be how things were going. Calm turned to melancholy turned to self-loathing turned to panic turned to yet more self-loathing and then, finally, jokes. It was, at least, a fairly predictable pattern even if Steve couldn’t know when it would start or what might set Bucky off. “You can be a mess for as long as you want,” he promised, nudging Bucky’s chin up so he could kiss him, “But I’m gonna insist that you be a mess who has interests other than just me.”

            “So, what? You gonna make me get a hobby or something?”

            “Yeah. I still spend whole days drawing when I can’t get out of my head. And I cook and I even garden a little. Or I did, before you tripped over my cactus.”

            “Sorry.”

            “Don’t be. I was well on the way to killing the poor thing anyway. You’ve just gotta find something you like to do.”

            “What did I used to like to do?” Bucky asked. His voice seemed fragile. Unsure, somehow.

            Steve hid his startled reaction. “You don’t remember?”

            “I remember what I _did_. But…I dunno. A lot of the emotions are still kind of missing. I don’t really know what I did because I had to and what I did because I wanted to.”

            “You liked books,” Steve told him, closing his eyes and remembering, “Not like big, dusty, old books. Crappy dime store novels, mostly. And you really loved comics. I remember how much you liked the first Superman comic books. We were probably too old for them, but you really loved ‘em.”

            “We weren’t too old,” Bucky protested, smiling through his tears, “Just ‘cause kids liked ‘em doesn’t mean grownups weren’t allowed.”

            “And you _loved_ movies. Jesus Christ, did you ever love movies. Dragged me down to the pictures every other week to see whatever was playing.”

            That earned him an actual laugh. “I remember that. Wasn’t doing it for the movies though, Stevie. Well,” he amended, “Not _just_ for the movies. I just liked sitting next to you in the dark and pretending we could be a regular couple.”

            “You liked going to museums. Art, science, whatever. You always wanted to go to the Smithsonian, but we could never afford the trip.”

            “Been there, done that,” Bucky snorted, “You’d think the nation’s best museum would have gotten my birthday right. It gave two different dates on the same damn sign.”

            “I know,” Steve chuckled, “God, it was so weird going to that exhibit the first time. And _so_ damned sad.”

            “Why’d you keep going, then?”

            “Masochism, I think,” Steve admitted, forcing the honesty out past the walls he’d built. Bucky needed to know. “Punishing myself for being alive when all of you were dead. Like I had to make myself relive all of it, make sure it hurt, or I was dishonoring everyone I’d outlived.”

            Bucky shook his head disapprovingly. “You’re nuts, Rogers.”

            “We’re _both_ nuts,” Steve replied, obviously faking the crossness in his tone, “And we’re gonna be late. If you still wanna go—which you _absolutely_ don’t have to, by the way—then we need to get ready.”

            “I still wanna go,” Bucky agreed, picking himself up clumsily out of Steve’s lap.

            “Alrigh then,” Steve agreed, sticking out a hand, “Help me up.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, that's all for now. We'll see how long it takes me to write the party chapter. Please review!


	10. Paramour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What?” Steve asked defensively, “You’ve got a problem with me being with a guy?”  
> “Of course not,” Sam said, his tone suggesting Steve was missing something painfully obvious, “I’ve got a problem with you taking advantage of him!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you may have noticed, I upped the rating on this fic. While I'd originally planned an R-rated story, the friend who kind of sort of dared me to write this in the first place asked for a smutty scene and it's in the offing for chapter 12. That'll be lots of fun.  
> But this chapter is the party and it's the longest one yet! Hooray! The character list really blew up here because I couldn't resist including all the gang and seeing their reactions to Stucky.  
> Reviews are super appreciated as always, please enjoy!

** Paramour **

 

 

 

            Riding through New York on the back of a motorcycle in a fancy new suit with his arms wrapped around the love of his life, Bucky had to wonder what sort of twisted fate had given him everything he’d ever wanted in arguably the worst way possible. Panic attacks on bathroom floors sucked, sure, but he was a lot more concerned by the question of whether he’d ever be able to enjoy his new lot in life like a regular person. Would he ever be anything more than a burden to Steve, even if it was a burden gladly borne? He’d felt good helping Steve through his nightmare and the trembling panic that came afterwards, had felt like maybe he could actually bring something to the table. But the rest of the day had been exactly the same as the previous ones, with Steve helping Bucky to function instead of the other way around. It felt good to be cared for, but it felt shitty to know he couldn’t do the same for the man he loved. The shitty feelings were all too familiar after the life he’d led, but all he wanted was for the good ones to last a little longer than they seemed to. It was like awful wasn’t even awful anymore. It was normal. Anything good was just a crazy fluctuation in his pattern, and a brief one at that. He knew that wasn’t the truth, knew he’d gone most of the day feeling mostly good with Steve and even with Romanoff. But knowing wasn’t always believing, as he’d learned breaking through the memory blocks and Hydra programming.

            Steve was too busy stewing in his own pot of worries to notice the way Bucky pressed himself as tightly as possible against his back. _You’re a fucking moron, Rogers,_ he berated himself, _Marriage? Kids? What the fuck were you thinking? You just got him back and you’re already asking for way too much._ It was crazy. The thought of that sort of future with Bucky hadn’t even crossed his mind until the words were spilling out of his mouth and now it was somehow all he wanted. _No,_ he thought, _Not all I want. All I want is for Bucky to find himself a life._ He wanted to erase the haunted look that lurked behind those glacial eyes even when Bucky smiled. But to have the family he’d long since given up on… To have that with _Bucky_ … It was a nice thought. Dangerously nice, if he was honest with himself. He was starting to wonder how much of his feelings about… _whatever_ it was that was happening between them…were about Bucky and how much were about everything else Steve Rogers had lost to Captain America. Bucky had said he couldn’t trust his feelings. Could Steve, after everything he’d been through himself? He couldn’t help the soft growl of frustration that bubbled out of his throat, revving the engine to cover the noise. _Gotta be strong for him._

            Avengers Tower stood huge and imposing as ever when they finally drove up, but Steve was more than a little alarmed to see a few reporters and camera crews on the front steps. From the way Bucky’s arms tightened around his waist, he felt the same. Bypassing the front entrance, Steve quickly turned the motorcycle towards the underground parking structure, making it through the security checkpoints by simple virtue of hooking a thumb back to indicate the shield strapped to the side of the bike. He hardly ever went anywhere without it these days.

            Natasha greeted them, standing by his usual parking spot like there was nothing out of the ordinary about a stunning red-head in killer heels and a tightly fitting black dress just waiting for them in a garage. “Evening, boys,” she purred.

            Steve pulled off his helmet and tried to settle his hair, succeeding only in mussing it further until Bucky took pity on him and brushed his hands away. The shorter man took barely a moment to put the blonde strands to rights, his fingers somehow remembering the motions from when Steve was a good deal shorter. “Natasha,” he greeted the fellow assassin, pulling off his own helmet and the leather gloves he’d bought. No need to hide the metal hand with Steve’s team.

            “You’re late.”

            “We got held up,” Steve offered.

            She quirked one flam-colored brow and Bucky sighed. “I had a panic attack. No point in pretending I didn’t.”

            He’d expected her to take that information in with the same cool composure that she seemed to most things, but instead she made a small noise of sympathy, her scarlet lips pulling into a grimace. “They’ll get better eventually,” she promised, “I was like that, when I first started to trust my place in S.H.I.E.L.D. It’s hard, once you realize the battle’s really over. That’s when you start to crack, in my experience.”

            “Like there’s not enough pressure on the outside to keep the inside from exploding,” Bucky agreed, relieved.

            _That’s why he’s so eager to do this,_ Steve thought, _Pressure. He’s looking to put pressure on himself to find some kind of equilibrium._ He could understand that. It was why he’d been so ready to throw himself into S.H.I.E.L.D. after the ice. _Not sure I can get behind it, though._ Which, he knew full well, was hypocritical and patronizing and something of a dick move. He just didn’t care. Protecting Bucky was too important. So he stepped forward and put his hand to the small of the other man’s back, right in the spot where it had started to seem to just _fit_ , and cleared his throat. “I’m just gonna say it one more time, Buck: You don’t have to do this.”

            Bucky rolled his eyes. “We’re already here. If I was gonna chicken out, I’d have done it before I put on the monkey suit.”

            “Gentlemen,” Natasha sighed impatiently, “I do understand the need for all this, but could we hurry it up? Bruce is saving me a dance and Tony’s about ready to send out a search party to get you guys. The original gang’s all here, but the B Team are gonna start showing up any minute and I figured you might want to introduce James here to Earth’s Mightiest Heroes before Earth’s Mightiest Wannabes.”

            “You’re still just bitter about us letting Spider-Man join up,” Steve snorted, falling into step beside her and pulling Bucky along with him, hand moving up to his shoulder in a slightly less intimate gesture. Not hiding what was happening between them from the team was one thing, but he didn’t want everyone’s first impression to be _Steve’s-new-beau_ instead of just _Bucky_. Barnes deserved a chance to establish himself as something other than an extension of Steve. He also had a feeling that they were going to take some shit from Stark, ever the jokester. Still, Steve couldn’t make himself break the contact entirely.

            “I am _not_ bitter,” Natasha protested, bringing him back to the moment, “He’s a freaking _teenager_ , Steve. I just don’t think we should be putting a kid in danger like that, much less trusting him to have _our_ backs.”

            Steve groaned, irritated by the necessity to rehash the argument yet again. “He’s not _that_ much younger than Wanda and he’s been doing the whole hero thing for three years already without our help. And he’s not full time with us, as you very well know.”

            “He’s a kid,” she said again.

            Bucky noticed the look she gave Steve and recognized it for what it was. “She’s saying that kids don’t belong in this business,” he supplied quietly. Natasha, of all people, would be naturally sensitive to that issue.

            “And I agree,” Steve sighed, “But _we_ didn’t give the kid his powers and we don’t have the right to tell him how he should be using them. All we can do is give him some guidance and a support system so he’s not going lone wolf all the time the way he was before.”

            “This is the web-slinger who’s been looking after New York, right?” Bucky asked, “The kid at the store asked about him.”

            “He’s something of a pop culture sensation,” Natasha confirmed, “The most famous hero outside the team until Stark finally convinced him to join. Some people have been commenting on how New York seems to be the hub for new heroes, but Spidey’s the biggest name in town.”

            “And you’re saying he’s a _teenager_?” Bucky asked.

            “He’s got a secret identity,” Steve told him, “But yeah, he’s a teenager. I’m not sure he’ll even show up tonight, much less take off the mask. Kid’s pretty twitchy about people finding out who he is.”

            “Understandably,” Natasha pointed out, “He’s had a lot of close calls. And you know what happened with Osborne.” She jabbed the button for the elevator with a lot more force than necessary. _So this spider wants to look out for the other one,_ Bucky thought.

            They crowded into the elevator, Bucky taking the position at the back so he could watch the other two. He took a moment to look the Russian over, admiring the way she stood so confidently in her stilettos. Bucky could see the outline of a strap around her left thigh, just visible in the tight dress, and he imagined it probably held a little arsenal of death for anyone who might try to test her. “Vyyti glyadya na moyu zadnitsu, Dzheyms. Stiv sobirayetsya poymat' vas. On budet revnovat',” she murmured, not turning around. _Quit staring at my ass, James. Steve’s gonna notice and get jealous._

            “Vy zabyli, ya mogu govorit' po-russki?” Steve chuckled, “Krome togo, eto khoroshaya zadnitsa.” _Did you forget I speak Russian? Besides, it’s a nice ass._

            Bucky flinched, only remembering himself at the sound of protesting metal. He unclenched his left hand from around the railing, working to steady his breathing. “No Russian, ok?” he said in answer to the other two’s questioning looks, “Too many bad memories.”

            “Sorry,” Natasha said. She didn’t sound all that sorry and Bucky had to wonder if it had been another of her little tests. He didn’t mind. It was a good thing to know about himself, that the language of his handlers could still set him off. Part of him was weirdly grateful.

            “So who’s actually here?” Steve asked with an air of changing the topic.

            “Clint, Bruce, Stark, Thor, Pepper. Wanda’s in the building, of course, but I seriously doubt she’s going to come down to see anyone.”

            Steve winced. “She’s been holed up since the mission, hasn’t she?” He couldn’t help the lance of guilt that ran through him when he remembered his responsibilities to the team. He’d been ignoring them for the few days he’d been with Bucky, and that couldn’t be good in the wake of a mission as long as the one they’d just finished.

            “Bruce got her out of there for a while, just to take a look at her wrist. It was broken after all, and don’t even bother asking me how she kept that hidden for as long as she did. But she headed back into hiding the minute he put the cast on her.”

            “Shit,” Steve said, blowing out a breath.

            “Pretty much. I dunno what we’re gonna do about her, Steve. It hasn’t been a liability on missions, but we can’t _just_ care about how she functions in the field.”

            “Yeah,” Steve agreed, knuckling his forehead, “She’s starting to be part of the family.”

            _Family_. The word struck Bucky hard. There had been days when _he_ was Steve’s family, but that circle seemed to have expanded. Natasha seemed as surprised—and as pleased, if he was honest with himself—as he was by the turn of phrase. “Well there’s a new one,” she chuckled, “Yeah. I guess you could call it that.”

            Bucky could see the blush creep up the back of Steve’s neck. “I… You know what I mean.”

            “I think you meant family, Rogers,” she murmured, staring at their reflections in the polished steel of the elevator door, “And I think you’re right. None of us have much in the way of real family, but this is the closest thing.” She turned to smile at Bucky, the most open one he’d seen from her yet. “Welcome to the family, James.”

            Bucky could feel himself flush a little, secretly very pleased by the gesture. Steve was a lot more open about his delight, grinning like a loon and reaching out to squeeze Bucky’s hand. “Damn straight,” he agreed firmly.

            “Y’all are nuts,” Bucky grumbled, trying to hide how happy the stupid little sentence had made him. _You’re a monster,_ he tried to remind himself, _You killed people who didn’t deserve it. She’s just being nice. She doesn’t trust you._ But another part of him, the part that cracked jokes after flashbacks, was perfectly happy to accept that maybe Natasha didn’t have to completely trust him for it to be sincere. Trust, as Bucky had learned, was a matter of degrees no matter what anyone said. He might trust Steve completely, but that was different. They weren’t friends. They weren’t even family. They were practically one person after everything they’d done together. It was why he had such a hard time keeping the crazy inside around Steve. Steve was safe. Steve was his home. And maybe these people had become something almost like that for Steve in Bucky’s absence. He’d expected the thought to make him jealous, but it didn’t. He liked it.

            “Brace yourselves, Avengers,” Natasha muttered to herself as the floors whizzed by, “Winter is coming.”

            Steve looked like he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or yell at her. “That’s not funny, Nat,” he sighed, his voice full of exasperation.

            “It’s a little funny,” Bucky disagreed.

            They both turned to stare at him, flabbergasted being the best term to describe their expressions. “Are you telling me…”

            “There was this kid in one of the shelters I stayed at for a few days. Scrawny little shit, but he was a scrapper. I pulled a couple assholes off him and…” Bucky laughed, remembering the sandy-haired youth. “He got attached, I guess. Kid gave me the first book, kind of as a thank you.” It had been an old, battered copy, clearly well-loved. Bucky had been sure to slip it back into the kid’s bag after finishing it in a single sleepless night, with a note telling him he’d enjoyed it.

            “And you read it?”

            “I was bored,” Bucky said with a shrug, “Being on the run isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. A lot less daring car chases and more sitting around on your ass.” He felt perversely pleased to have surprised them with his knowledge and he couldn’t keep the smirk off his face. “I favor the Starks, if you’re interested.”

            “Of course you do,” Natasha snorted, “You’re shacked up with one. Honor and duty and all that. Just look out for the pseudo-Stark in the metal suit. He’s Lannister through and through.”

            “So you _do_ still like books,” Steve said, his tone triumphant.

            Bucky smirked up at him. “Yeah. I’m an escapist. Always have been. That surprise you, Stevie?”

            “Not particularly.” Steve had to stop himself from leaning in to kiss the other man, reminding himself that Natasha was _right there_. “Uh…” he asked, turning to her and tugging at his shirt collar uncomfortably. “Does the team know already? About us, I mean. I didn’t think of it until now, but did you…”

            “I didn’t tell anyone,” she assured him, “Neither did Clint. Pepper’s too polite and I seriously doubt Stark was able to stop drooling over the whole metal arm thing for long enough to clue in.”

            “Ok,” Steve sighed, “So… How do you wanna handle this, Buck?”

            Bucky started, surprised by the question. “They’re your friends. I don’t care how you tell ‘em or don’t tell ‘em.”

            “Yeah but…” The elevator opened at last and Steve turned to Natasha, biting his lip, “You wanna give us a minute?”

            “Sure thing,” she confirmed, “I’ll go in and announce you.”

            She stepped away and Steve turned back to Bucky. “You’re a part of this…whatever.” He was reluctant to term it a relationship after the previous night’s events. They both were. “That means you get to be a part of deciding how and if we tell people.”

            “We don’t even know what to call what we’re doing, Stevie,” Bucky groaned, “I don’t give two shits how you wanna explain that to your team.”

            “I love you,” Steve promised, and he really did kiss Bucky then, quick and chaste. “And I want them to know that. But I also want them to get to know you as something other than my…” He searched for the right word.

            “Boy toy?” Bucky suggested with a quirked eyebrow.

            “Oh, shut the fuck up.” Steve wasn’t really annoyed, but there were times when he could do without Bucky’s brand of ill-timed humor. “My lover.”

            “See, now I’m not sure how accurate that one is,” Bucky protested lightly, endeavoring to cover his own nerves, “’Cause we haven’t actually done anything.”

            “Yet,” Steve muttered, smiling despite himself, “Jesus, why are we so nervous?”

            “Because I’ve tried to kill a full third of your team in the past? Or maybe because you keep making me indecent promises and then not following through? It’s enough to make a guy a little tense, Steve.”

            Steve shrugged. “Yeah, well, you’ve got designs on my virtue. Not my fault.”

            “What virtue?” Bucky laughed, “Seems to me _you_ were the one climbing in _my_ lap on the couch earlier.”

            “We’re stalling, aren’t we?” Steve asked, pushing a hand through his hair.

            “Probably.”

            “Come on.” Gripping Bucky’s shoulder, Steve steered him through the double doors and into the common room. They were greeted by a general shout of approval at their entrance.

            “Fucking _finally_ ,” Stark cried, practically bouncing over to the two of them. He punched Steve lightly on the arm. “Where’ve you been hiding him, Rogers? The whole gang’s eager to meet the guy and you keep him in the hallway for some kind of secret chat?”

            “Hi, Stark,” Bucky said, plastering a smile onto his face.

            “The man of the hour, and all decked out like a real boy. Lookin’ sharp there, Barnes.”

            “Tony,” Pepper sighed, coming over to stand beside him, “Don’t you think the Pinocchio reference _might_ be in poor taste? And not just because of Ultron.” Tony at least had the good grace to look slightly abashed. “Good to see you both,” Pepper continued, addressing the two super soldiers.

            “You too, Miss Potts,” Bucky acknowledged.

            “Call me Pepper.”

            “Pepper, then.”

            Steve had just looked around to survey the room when a massive hand descended on his shoulder from behind. “Captain,” a deep voice boomed, “Are you going to introduce the rest of us to your paramour?”

            _Fucking Thor,_ Steve thought, feeling the blush flood into his cheeks. The big guy was a dream to work with and not half bad as a friend, but there were times when he was far too perceptive for his own good. “Paramour?” Tony choked. Pepper just sort of looked at him in that long-suffering way she had. Like, _Of course, you idiot._ Steve could see Clint choking on a beer on the other side of the room, Natasha pounding helpfully on his back, and Bruce just looking between Steve and Bucky with a mildly surprised expression. Nothing fazed Bruce.

            “I’m not his…” Bucky started to protest. But he stopped. “Ok, I guess I’m kind of… Yeah. That’s probably the best word for it in a technical sense. Shit. Hi, I’m Bucky…er… _James_.”

            Thor looked confused. “Have I caused offense?”

            “No, Thor,” Steve groaned, covering his face with a hand, “We were just sort of hoping to work up to that little revelation a bit more slowly.”

            “Ah,” Thor said, frowning awkwardly, “My apologies.”

            “ _Paramour_?” Tony repeated, louder this time.

            “Yeah, Tony,” Steve sighed, turning to face the spluttering inventor, “It means lover. Particularly one that can’t be acknowledged publicly for whatever reason.”

            “ _I know what it means_ ,” Stark insisted, “I’m just wondering how it is nobody informed me it applied to the two of you!”

            “It didn’t until a couple days ago,” Bucky informed him, blushing as red as Steve for once. He might not have particularly cared how Steve informed the team of that particular development, but _this_ certainly wasn’t something he was alright with.

            “You’re _gay_?” Tony seemed like he was having a hard time controlling his laughter.

            “Why does everybody assume that?” Steve snapped, throwing his hands up into the air in frustration.

            “Because you’re screwing a guy, maybe?” Stark had given up the fight and was openly guffawing now. “Because your childhood best friend is back from the dead for like two days and you’re already living in sin together? Aren’t you fucking _Catholic_?”

            “Yeah, and you’re an asshole. Why the hell is this your business?”

            “Aw, don’t take me wrong, Stevie,” Tony protested, “I don’t have a problem with it. Of course not. I’m just imagining how people would’ve reacted if they found out about _this_ …” He gestured to indicate the two of them. “Back in the day.”

            “Yes, Stark, because homophobia is just hilarious,” Bucky snapped.

            “Whoa,” Stark said, instantly sobering, “That is _not_ what I meant. It’s just nice to see Captain Goody-Two-Shoes here telling people to stick their standards of behavior where the sun don’t shine, for once.”

            Bucky relaxed even if Steve didn’t. “I don’t know _where_ you guys got this notion that he’s some kind of quiet, little mouse.” He shook his head. “Kid couldn’t follow any rule he didn’t agree with.”

            Stark turned to Steve, grinning broadly. “Is that so? Sounds like a certain other member of the team.”

            Steve glared at him, trying and failing to remind himself how good Tony had been to Bucky. “Yeah, but _I_ happen to have reasons for breaking the rules other than my own god complex.”

            “Hey, come on, Rogers,” Stark objected, “I’m not trying to piss you off, for once. It’s not that big of a deal.”

            “Of course it is.” Steve was starting to get really angry. People laughing at _him_ was one thing. He’d never been one to handle it well, but if it was just a matter of that he would simply have taken it out on Tony in their next sparring match. But this was Stark laughing at _Bucky_ , too _._ Bucky Barnes, who’d been through Hell and back. He was sick and tired of Bucky getting screwed over just because of his association with Steve. He was ready to lash out again—though with an angry word or a blow, he wasn’t sure—when Bucky’s steadying hand descended onto the back of his neck.

            “Steve,” Bucky said quietly, “Come on, pal, he didn’t mean anything by it.” Steve made an effort to relax his muscles and unclench his fists, earning another one of those coveted Bucky-smiles. “You’ve gotta admit it _is_ a little funny. You and me laughed about it too.”

            Steve rolled his eyes. There was a big difference between the two of them laughing about it in bed—giddy from the revelations of the barn and drunk on touch—and Stark’s laughter. It was Thor who tried to break the tension he seemed to have inadvertently created, and Steve silently blessed him for it. “So, James, are you quite recovered then? Steve has told me of your time with Hydra. I hope you made them pay for what they did to you.”

            Bucky’s metal hand flexed. “I did. And no, I’m not all the way there. But I’m getting a lot better, thanks. Memories have been back for a while, I’m even starting to feel a little like myself. Whoever that is, now.” Though the first sentence was heavy with residual rage, the rest of Bucky’s words were light.

            Bruce came over, head down and shoulders a bit slumped as always. “How are you physically?” Seeming to remember his manners belatedly, he took one hand out of his pocket and extended it. “Bruce Banner, by the way. Glad you’re back.”

            “You’re the one who turns green when he gets pissed off, right?” Bucky asked, amusement flickering in his eyes as he shook Bruce’s hand.

            “I try not to make a habit of it,” Bruce admitted ruefully, “We like to pretend that the gang keeps me around for science more than smashing.”

            “I’m really only any good at smashing, myself,” Bucky replied, “And I’m alright. Not much a good dose of super soldier serum can’t cure.”

            Bruce looked unconvinced. “You should still let us check you out. We’ve got no idea what Zola put into his blend, so yours might be a lot more unstable than Steve’s. I know doctors can be… _disconcerting_ for those of us who’ve been lab rats, but Tony and I can give you the whole rundown without needing to bring in any white-coats.”

            “I…” Bucky hesitated, but he knew Bruce was right. And he knew Steve was worried about him, could see it every time those blue eyes caught on the shadows between his ribs. “Ok. Thanks.”

            “And you’ve already met Webs and Feathers,” Stark piped up, gesturing at Clint and Natasha where they were hovering in the background.

            “Hey, Clint,” Bucky said warmly. Lucky came padding out from behind the couch to sniff at his feet and Buck bent to scratch behind the dog’s ears. “Hey, buddy.”

            Natasha came over to press herself lightly against Bruce’s side, his arm coming up automatically to wrap around her waist before he seemed to realize what he was doing. “I thought Mr. Spandex suit was Webs. He’s the one with _actual webs_ , after all,” she pointed out.

            “It’s not my fault you both picked arachnid-related hero names,” Stark replied with a shrug.

            Clint came to his partner’s defense. “ _Technically_ neither of them picked the names.”

            “So I’ve gotta come up with all the money, all the tech, _and_ all the nicknames?” Tony asked, putting a hand to his head in a theatrical gesture, “What’s a girl to do?”

            “Is this always what it’s like?” Bucky asked, looking up at Steve.

            Steve rolled his eyes and sighed. “The bickering? Yeah, pretty much.”

            Bucky grinned. “It’s nice.” It was a lot like things had been back with the commandos, someone always picking an argument just for the chance to rib one another.

            “Yeah,” Steve admitted, smiling back, “It kind of is.” He’d never been able to _fully_ enjoy the camaraderie of his new team, the loss of his old one still weighing too heavily on him, but it had still been part of what kept him going.

            Stark rubbed his hands together, clearly eager to share something with the class. “The rest of the kids should be getting here any minute, so I say we get this party started. F.R.I.D.A.Y. if you’d be so kind?”

            “Sure thing, Boss,” the computer replied. Before anyone else had time to question what it was Stark was planning, the lights dimmed and big band music started pumping through the recessed speakers.

            “In honor of the return of an old friend, and for the happy couple, I suppose,” Tony said with his rakish grin, “We’ve got the bar stocked for Sidecars and French 45’s and pretty much anything else you old geezers might want, and I took the liberty of raiding my father’s record collection for the tunes. I’d have found us some U.S.O. girls, but I figured it’d be in poor taste.”

            Bucky laughed aloud and even Steve offered the billionaire a grateful smile. “That’s real nice of you, Tony,” he admitted, fighting a blush, “But as for the couple bit… Well, we’re hoping to keep that under our hat as much as possible. Not lookin’ for the press to get wind any time soon.”

            Stark nodded. “Roger, Captain Rogers. Let’s get his public image cleaned up a bit before we put him on the arm of America’s sweetheart.”

            “I’m not Shirley Temple,” Steve grumbled, quiet enough that only Bucky heard.

            “You sure?” Bucky replied, bumping him affectionately, “You’ve got that whole baby blues and blonde curls thing going for you.”

Steve was prevented from replying by a delighted shout from by the doors. “Hey, Cap, you gonna introduce your new sidekick to the old one?” Grinning, he turned to find Sam standing there, handsome as ever in his dark suit and red shirt, with that dazzlingly white smile.

            “Neither of you was ever anybody’s sidekick,” Steve laughed, striding over to greet his friend. Bucky watched the two of them hug, the sort of manly embrace that Steve had never gotten back in the day, full of backslapping and testosterone. Everyone around him had either been too afraid to break him before the serum or too intimidated by his persona afterwards. “Buck, this is Sam Wilson,” he said, holding out a hand to Bucky in a _come-here-he’s-alright_ gesture.

            “Sorry about trying to kill you last time,” Bucky said, shaking the newcomer’s hand.

            Sam laughed. “No hard feelings, man. You missed.”

“Sam was the one helping me look for you,” Steve said, clapping the black man on the shoulder, “Good guy to have in your corner.”

            “What can I say?” Sam said with a shrug and a sideways grin, “I got bored. Figured the superhero gig would be good for picking up chicks. Not that it did this guy any good.” He punched Steve lightly in the arm. Steve just gave a sort of awkward half-laugh, reddening.

            “Yeah,” Bucky agreed, quirking an eyebrow at his best friend, “He never did have much of a way with the ladies.”

            Sam gave a short, rolling laugh before he visibly sobered. “Hey, man, I know you’ve been through a lot. I work down at the VA with a lot of vets. Support groups, therapy, that kind of thing. You ever think that might be something you could use, just let me know.”

            Bucky’s first instinct was to snarl back that he didn’t need anyone else poking around in his damn head and for Wilson to mind his own damned business. But Steve clearly counted the man a friend. Clearly trusted him. That had to count for something. “I’m not sure there’s a therapist in the world who could pick apart the knots in my head,” he admitted at last.

            “You’d be surprised,” Sam said with a grunt, “A lot of us think that before getting help. But I know a guy who specializes in helping vets who’ve been through long periods of captivity, even torture. Probably nothing on quite the scale you saw, but he might be able to help you get somewhere.”

            Steve broke into the conversation, seeing how uncomfortable it was clearly making Buck. “Look, Scott and Hope showed up.” He nodded to where the couple had just walked through the doors, a white-haired man following in their wake, leaning heavily on a cane.

            “Who’s the old guy?” Sam asked, successfully distracted.

            Tony drifted over, sipping absently at his scotch. “That,” he said with feigned idleness, “is Hank Pym. One time protégé and long time rival of my father.”

            “Knowing Howard, I can’t say I’m surprised,” Steve snorted, watching the old man scowl around at the room.

            “Stark,” he barked, spotting Tony, “Any particular reason you invited my daughter but not me?”

            “Well, for one thing, you’re not an Avenger,” Tony replied coolly, “And for another, you’ve been turning down my invitations to parties since my father died.”

            “Be glad I showed up to the funeral,” Pym snapped.

            “You didn’t, Uncle Hank.” Tony put careful emphasis on the title, clearly trying to make some sort of point.

            Pym fumbled awkwardly for a moment, taken aback. “Oh. That’s right. I suppose I ought to apologize for that, shouldn’t I?”

            Tony tossed back the last of his drink before speaking. “Well, I don’t exactly have a good track record with my father’s old business partners. Ask Obie.”

            “Obadiah always was a greedy bastard,” Pym agreed, stumping over to them, “Should’ve seen Cross’s backstabbing coming. He always reminded me too much of Stane.”

            “Why are you actually here, Hank?” Tony asked tiredly.

            “I was interested to meet your newest team member.”

            “Me?” Bucky asked, startled when all eyes suddenly turned back to him, “Why me?”

            “You shot an old friend of mine,” Pym told him, pushing a pair of glasses farther up his nose.

            Bucky’s stomach knotted. “Look, everything Hydra made me do…”

            Pym held up a hand to forestall him. “It wasn’t when you were with Hydra. Mitchell Carson.”

            Spine stiffening, Bucky met his eyes with a glare. “That bastard was Hydra through and through. I did the world a favor, taking him down.”

            “That you did,” Pym agreed with a laugh, “I just wanted to shake the hand of the man who finally put a bullet between Carson’s eyes.” He reached out and did just that, leaving Bucky somewhat speechless. “Do you know what happened to the Cross Particles he stole for Hydra?”

            “I…No,” Bucky stammered, “I caught up with him months after that whole deal with Pym Tech.”

            “Dad,” the woman Steve had called Hope sighed, walking up and putting a hand on her father’s shoulders, “Are you playing nice?”

            “Never,” Hank replied, patting her hand.

            Hope extended her hand to Bucky. “I’m Hope van Dyne. This is my partner, Scott Lang.” She gestured to the man hovering behind her, plainly trying to sneak a look at Bucky’s arm.

            “You guys shrink, right?” Bucky asked dubiously. Steve had given him the rundown of most of the team members on the plane back from Barton’s farm, but he’d been half asleep and not really paying very close attention.

            “Yup,” Scott confirmed, “Ant-Man and the Wasp.”

            “Lot of bug-related heroes around here,” Bucky observed, snorting.

            “True,” Scott agreed with a full-throated laugh.

            Sam hooked a thumb at Lang, grinning proudly. “This guy was _my_ recruit. Which means I brought Hope in too, by association. ”

            “You guys are letting the bird-brothers find all your new blood?” Bucky asked Steve with a wink, “First Clint with Maximoff and now Wilson gets to bring in _two_?

            “ _I_ got us Spidey,” Tony pointed out, “ _And_ Rhodey. Who should both be here by now, come to think of it.”

            A smooth voice answered Stark, making Bucky jump halfway out of his skin when he saw the speaker. “Colonel Rhodes was delayed somewhat. Spider-Man was… _way_ laid.”

            “Not gonna ask how you know that,” Tony said firmly, “Too weird for my poor, beautiful brain.”

            “Uh…” Bucky hesitated, watching the newcomer dubiously, “Vision, right?”

            The red-skinned hero inclined his head graciously. “I am, Sergeant Barnes. And might I say how pleased I am to meet you?”

            “Yeah,” Bucky said awkwardly, “Pleasure’s all mine. It’s just James, though. Haven’t been in the army for a while now.” His gaze suddenly snapped away from the strangest of Steve’s teammates, focusing in on Natasha. She’d been dancing with Banner, but her head had whipped around to face the balcony and he could see one of her hands drifting towards the garter he’d noticed earlier. Bucky’s own instincts went wild a moment later, driving him into a slight crouch, and he could see Clint scrambling for his bow where he’d apparently stashed it beneath one of the couches.

            “Buck?” Steve asked, surprised, “What the Hell?”

            “We’ve got company,” Bucky growled back, unconsciously creeping towards the center of the room. If he was going to have to fight, he’d rather have as much room to move as possible.

            “F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” Stark asked, looking up.

            The computer responded immediately. “I’m showing a presence on the walls three stories up, Boss.”

            “Relax, guys,” Tony called out, taking in the way all three assassins had reacted, “It’s just our friendly neighborhood juvenile delinquent.”

            Natasha and Clint instantly calmed, even if neither of them relaxed quite all the way, but Bucky stayed where he was. “You sure?”

            “F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” Stark said again.

            “My sensors are having some trouble picking him out, but it seems consistent with Spider-Man’s movements and bio-signature.”

            Bruce turned to give Tony a dubious look from across the room. “Only one thing I can think of that messes with her sensors like that.”

            Stark groaned even as two figures dropped onto the balcony, one clinging to the other’s back. “Who the hell invited the Merc?”

           A collective groan went up from the assembled heroes even as Pepper made her way over to open the door for their two new arrivals. Bucky was surprised to see a pair of characters perhaps even stranger than Vision. Both wore suits, one a hideous red velour number and the other a much more typical grey one. But both also wore full-face, skin-tight masks and matching gloves, much to Bucky’s amusement. “Sorry I’m late,” the slimmer of the two said, voice slightly muffled by his web-patterned hood, “Some asshole jumped on my back and demanded a ride.”

            The other of them—the one in the heinous tuxedo—jumped from foot to foot gleefully. “Holy Bea Arthur! It’s really him! My boxes are never gonna believe this, it’s Bucky Bear! This is _totally_ worth the nine chapters I wasn’t in this fic!”

            Bucky blinked, then looked to Steve. “What?”

            Steve had his face buried in his hands. “Just ignore it. He says stuff like that all the time, none of us know what he’s talking about.”

            “Cap, you _gotta_ introduce me!” the masked man insisted, bounding over to Steve and shaking him by the arm.

“Wade,” Steve said in a long-suffering voice, “this is my old pal Bucky Barnes. Buck, this is Wade Wilson, aka Deadpool.”

            “Didn’t I shoot you?” Bucky asked, nerves rioting.

            Deadpool cocked his head to the side, seeming to consider for a moment before he snapped his fingers. “Oh yeah, back in that Hydra base I was casing.”

            “I shot you _in the head_ ,” Bucky protested.

            The merc shrugged. “I got better.”

            “Steve, what the fuck kinda people are you hangin’ out with these days?” Bucky asked, totally unable to come up with any other response.

            “You don’t know the half of it,” Steve admitted with a roll of his eyes.

            The scrawnier of the two newcomers was still hovering nervously by the windows, scratching uncomfortably at the back of his neck. Taking pity on the poor kid, Steve went over and put a hand on his arm. “Now look, Peter,” he whispered, “I know you were a big fan of those old Cap comics, but promise me you won’t be weird, alright? He’s been through a lot.”

            “Gotcha,” Parker agreed, voice slightly squeaky with nerves.

            “Buck,” Steve said, beckoning, “This is Spider-Man.”

            The web-slinger reached up and tugged off his mask, revealing a shockingly young face and a mop of unruly hair. “It’s such an honor to meet you, sir,” he babbled, pumping Bucky’s hand enthusiastically, “I mean, you’re actually him. You’re _actually_ Bucky Barnes. You were Cap’s best friend and you guys fought Nazis together and…”

            “Peter,” Steve groaned, throwing his head back, “Come on. You promised not to be weird about it.”

            “Sorry,” Peter mumbled, blushing and dropping Bucky’s hand.

            “Forgive the kid,” Clint laughed, sidling up and punching Spidey on the shoulder, “He’s kind of a dork. You shoulda seen it the first time he met Cap. Poor guy was cool as a cucumber for the whole battle, then just about wets himself when Steve shakes his hand.”

            “He’s _Captain America_ ,” Parker protested, “Are you telling me you kept your cool the first time you met Captain America?”

            “Clint kept his cool the first time he met a god,” Natasha replied, leaning on her partner like a conveniently placed wall, “It’s good to see you, Peter. We weren’t sure you’d want to take off the mask with new people.”

            “Well it’s just…” Peter trailed off as he looked past Bucky and saw Pym, “Oh, shit!” He scrambled to pull the mask back on, turning his back to hide his face.

            “Relax, kid,” Hank called from where he’d seated himself on a couch, drink in hand, “I’m not gonna out you. If I can keep my own secret for thirty years, I can sure as hell keep yours.”

            “Uhhh… ok,” Peter agreed, still seeming fairly unconvinced. Still, he stowed the mask away in an inside pocket of his jacket, looking around the room. “No Wanda?”

            “Doesn’t look like it,” Steve confirmed. Most of the rest of the group had moved off to socialize. “She’s probably up on her floor, though, if you wanna go try and coax her out.”

            Parker blanched. “No thanks. She made me see a bunch of rabid clowns the last time I pissed her off. That girl is _scary_.”

            “Yeah,” Steve said teasingly, “But you’ve still got the hots for her.”

            “She’s too old for me,” Parker denied, but his blush gave him away. He gave Bucky one more awe-struck look before scurrying away to escape Steve’s teasing.

            “Reminds me of a certain other punk I used to know,” Bucky said mildly, leaning on the window next to Steve.

            The blonde grinned. “Yeah, except I didn’t have super-strength when I was his age. I had to get girls all on my own innate charm.”

            “No wonder you never got any.”

           “Bite me, Barnes.”

            Bucky gave him a devilish grin. “Maybe later, baby-cakes.” That sent Steve into a fit of snorting laughter, which Bucky couldn’t help but join in on.

            Pepper walked over then, smiling that soft smile of hers, the one that had always made Steve think of his mother. “What are you two boys laughing about?” she asked conspiratorially.

            “Just a really, _really_ bad joke, Pepper,” Steve sighed happily, wiping his eyes.

            She gave him a mock-stern look. “Steve, I’m with _Tony_ , of all people. You think I don’t love bad jokes?”

            “It’s a little inappropriate,” Bucky said, still grinning at Steve, “Wouldn’t wanna make my man uncomfortable.” It was a lie, Steve knew. Bucky _loved_ making him uncomfortable. Delighted in it. Hell, he’d probably chosen just that way of putting it to make Steve blush. _My man._ It worked, though Steve couldn’t tell if he reddened more from embarrassment or pleasure at the turn of phrase.

            “Ah,” Pepper agreed sagely, “Of course. He _is_ so easily embarrassed. You should’ve seen him the first time he caught me sneaking out of Tony’s room. Poor guy thought I was trying to hide that we were sleeping together. I barely had the heart to tell him I was just being quiet so I didn’t wake Tony. He’s so cranky in the mornings.”

            “Not embarrassed to be dating Stark, then?” Bucky asked with an easy smile. He’d unconsciously sidled closer to Steve and Steve put a hand to the small of his back, equally absent-mindedly.

            “Afraid not,” Pepper said with a giggle, “I know I probably should be, genius-billionaire-playboy-philanthropist and all that. But he’s not so bad once you get to know him.”

            “He didn’t throw me out on my ass or try to kill me when I told him what I did to his parents,” Bucky agreed, his face falling, “Seems like a standup guy to me.”

            Pepper looked at him sadly. “It wasn’t your fault. Tony knows that.”

            “Still,” Bucky said with a grimace, “He didn’t have that much of a reason to take my side. I appreciate it.”

            Squeezing his flesh arm comfortingly, Pepper shook her head. “He and Steve may not have gotten along very well at the beginning, but Tony respects him. Steve’s word that you were trustworthy was good enough for us.” Bucky found himself starting to very much like this normal woman who held her own among heroes.

            Steve looked up to see Sam walking over to them, a deep-set frown on his face. “Cap, man, can I talk to you for a second?”

            Bucky gave him an encouraging smile and nodded, still engaged in conversation with Pepper. “Of course.”

They wound up in a secluded alcove, close enough that Steve could keep an eye on Bucky but far enough from the action so as to not be overheard. “What’s up?”

            “You’re _together_?” Same asked without preamble.

            Steve turned slightly pink, but nodded. “We are.”

            “You never mentioned _that_.”

            He shrugged uncomfortably. “It’s a…uh… _recent_ development.”

            “You’re telling me he turned up on your doorstep and somehow you guys found the time in the last three days to fall for one another?”

            Steve shook his head. “Not like that. It was…it was something that carried over from the old days. We’d just never admitted it before this.”

            Sam sighed and rubbed his forehead in frustration. “ _Steve_ ,” he protested, “What the hell, man?”

            “What?” Steve asked defensively, “You’ve got a problem with me being with a guy?”

            “Of course not,” Sam said, his tone suggesting Steve was missing something painfully obvious, “I’ve got a problem with you taking advantage of him!”

            “ _What_?” Steve choked out, “Taking advantage of… What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

            “Come _on_ , Steve. He just got his memories back. He’s probably got no idea where to go from here. _Of course_ he latched onto you, you’re all he’s got left of who he was before Hydra.”

            “So?” Steve asked hotly, “He’s all _I’ve_ got left from back then too.”

            “Yeah, but you’ve got a life built here. He’s scared of losing the _only_ good thing in his life, so he’s holding on as tight as possible.”

            “You don’t know him,” Steve growled.

            “Do _you_? Are you telling me that’s the exact guy who fell off that train way back when? Was he still the guy you grew up with, even then?”

            “Of course not. After everything he’s been through…”

            “Everything he’s been through,” Sam agreed, “He went through the kind of hell you and me can only dream of. I might not know Barnes, but I know a lot about trauma. I’ve seen this kind of relationship before and it’s almost _never_ a good idea.”

            Steve ran a hand through his hair, stomach clenching. “This isn’t _new_ ,” he insisted, “Our…our feelings haven’t changed. It’s always been like this, we just never did anything about it.”

            Sam frowned thoughtfully. “Are you _sure_ , Steve? I’m not saying I don’t believe you, it’s just… This kind of trauma-bonding has a way of coloring old memories. Changing the way we interpret things in our past. It’s like when somebody dies and suddenly all anybody remembers about them is the good stuff. And Barnes… I don’t know, man. I just worry he might be reading a lot into the memories he’s gotten back.”

            “He says he remembers _everything_ ,” Steve said weakly.

            “Do you think that’s true?” Sam asked, “I want it to be true just as much as you do. I _want_ you two to be doing the right thing here. But I can’t help thinking you maybe jumped into this a little too fast.”

            Steve closed his eyes, clenching his jaw. “Where do you get off lecturing me, Sam?” The words didn’t sound angry. Just scared. “You just met him.”

            Sam softened his tone. “Yeah, Steve, and I watched you look for him for _two years_ before that. I helped you try to track him down. I know stuff about what they did to him that nobody should ever have to know. And I’m kind of an expert on broken soldiers, man. So just…just tell me one thing: Who made the first move? Was it him, or did he just play along?”

            Steve’s stomach was roiling by the time Sam finished talking. “Fuck,” he whispered, running a shaking hand through his hair.

            “Steve?” Sam asked, looking worried.

            “I just…I just need a minute,” Steve assured him, trying not to stumble as he made his way towards the door. He hoped Bucky wouldn’t follow him out.

            Steve made his way down the hallway, one hand on the wall to steady himself. He fumbled at his tie with the other, pulling it off and trying to draw a deep breath. He hadn’t felt like this since before the serum, like there was seawater at the bottom of his lungs, burning and taking up space that should have been full of air. There was a bathroom next to him and he pushed the door open, intending to splash some water on his face and pull himself together. But, the moment he saw his reflection in the mirror, a memory played itself before his eyes. Bucky, curled into his lap like a child, his voice small as he admitted, “ _I remember what I did. But…I dunno. A lot of the emotions are still kind of missing._ ” Exactly like Sam had said. He barely made it to the toilet before the contents of his stomach came churning back up.

            There was a knock at the door a few minutes later. He retched again, bringing up nothing but bile now. His muscles hurt from being tensed for too long and his skin felt clammy, like when he’d had the flu as a kid. “Steve?” It was Bucky’s voice.

***

Pepper had been called away almost the moment Steve left them, Tony wanting her to mediate an argument with Pym. That left Bucky alone by the window, feeling nervously exposed. Steve still deep in conversation with Wilson, he opted for the next best thing, shuffling over to where Natasha and Clint had gathered by the bar. “What can I getcha?” the red-head asked, leaning over the bar-top and adopting a spot-on Brooklyn accent, “Whiskey? Beer? What’s your poison, handsome?”

            Bucky was stumped for a moment. “Uh…not sure I’m really in the mood for booze.”

            “Thought you and Steve couldn’t get drunk,” Clint observed. He’d seated himself _atop_ the bar, looking for all the world like a bird on its perch with the way he scanned the room.

            “Far as I know,” Buck confirmed, “But I’m not that eager to revisit my days of voluntarily giving up my mental faculties, ya know? Memories of getting sloshed with friends aren’t quite so much fun when you’ve spent decades having your self-control _taken_ from you.”

            Natasha gave him a look. “You can be pretty intense for an old guy.” Rummaging around behind the bar for a second, she came up with a frosted bottle of Coke, the real stuff in the greenish glass bottle. “This work?”

            A broad smile lit Bucky’s face as he snagged it, popping the top off with a flick of his metal thumb. “They don’t make this stuff anymore,” he laughed, sipping appreciatively, “Where the hell did Stark find some? We couldn’t even get it during the war except one time, and that was just ‘cause it was Christmas.”

            “I recommend not asking how Stark gets a hold of the things he does,” Bruce advised, looking up from his Sidecar.

            Bucky looked quizzically at the doctor. He’d hardly noticed the man’s presence, no small feat of blending in given Bucky’s instincts, but it was hardly surprising. Everything about Banner’s body-language screamed _not-a-threat_ and _please-leave-me-alone_. “Can I ask you something?” Bucky blurted, not thinking.

            “Me?” Bruce asked.

            Bucky nodded. “Yeah. You and Stark are close, right?” Bruce shrugged, but it seemed more of a soft affirmative than anything else. Bucky had to steel himself before continuing, though he didn’t know what it was he actually wanted to ask until the words were already out. “Ok. So… Did he tell you about what I did to his parents?”

            “He did.”

            “And he’s just… He’s just ok with it? I mean, Pepper said he doesn’t blame me. He said the same thing himself, but… They’re just being nice, right?”

            Bruce turned to fully face him then and Bucky was startled by the quiet intensity in those dark eyes. “Barnes, listen to me. Do you know why everyone here is being so welcoming?”

            “Steve?” Bucky suggested weakly. It was exactly the reason he’d assumed before, but something about the way Banner was looking at him suggested otherwise.

            “No. Every person in this room knows what redemption means. Most of us used to be bad guys of one severity or another. And a lot of us were there because of our own choices, not because somebody kidnapped and tortured us. So no, Tony isn’t alright with what happened to his parents. He locked himself in his lab for two days after you and Cap went out to Barton’s farm and drank himself into a stupor before playing with explosives. It was a bad time all ‘round. But he _does not_ blame you. He blames Hydra, exactly like he should.”

            Bucky looked to Natasha, unsure of what to say. She smiled affectionately at Banner and nodded. “He’s right, James. You’re not the only one here who’s looking to right some of your own wrongs.”

            “Now who’s intense?” he muttered to himself, still not certain what to make of the situation.

            Clint saved him from having to puzzle it out by slipping off the bar with a quiet, “What the hell?” Bucky turned and saw Steve slipping out the door into the hall, a slight hitch in his step and a chagrinned-looking Sam Wilson staring after him. “Barnes?” Clint asked, nodding towards Steve’s retreating back.

            “That’s his I-need-to-be-alone look,” Bucky said, chewing his lip thoughtfully, “I’ll give him a couple minutes.”

            “You do that,” Clint agreed absently, slipping across the room to grab Sam firmly by the shoulder. He dragged the younger man over into a corner, looking pissed as hell. Bucky sat down on a barstool without looking, eyes still fixed on the two of them. “What’d you do to Steve?” Bucky heard Clint hiss. The enhanced hearing always seemed to be the first thing people forgot about serumed soldiers.

            “What? Nothing, Clint. I just…”

            Clint shook him a little, his jaw set. “Don’t bullshit me, Wilson. I’ve worked with Cap longer than you have and I just got done spending three days watching him work through all this shit. So I can fucking tell when something shakes the guy. What did you do?”

            “I just told him…” Sam stopped, rubbing a hand over his face in a frustrated gesture. “I just told him that maybe this thing with Barnes isn’t a good idea.”

            “Oh for fuck’s sake,” Clint snapped, “You couldn’t just be happy for them, could you?”

            “Listen, Clint, I—”

            “No,” Clint cut in, “ _You_ listen, Wilson. You weren’t there when they showed up at my place. You didn’t see it. Barnes was…Jesus Christ, he was half feral. It was like Natasha was when I first brought _her_ in, but worse. Perfectly capable of carrying on a conversation, but you knew he was scanning for weapons the whole time, figuring out a dozen ways to kill you at any given moment. It took Steve _one day_ to have him starting to act like a person again. And I could see where things were headed with them, yeah. Before either one of them figured it out, I think. And I _let it go_ , Sam, because…the way they looked at each other…Christ, that’s not friendship. If you don’t think what they’re feeling for one another is genuine, you’re blind.”

            “You do get that I do this for a living, right?” Sam asked defensively, “The whole counseling thing. I’m not just some busybody friend, here, Clint…”

            “Shut _up_ ,” Clint growled, “I’ve got plenty of experience with shrinks, Wilson. You have to have heard about the whole Loki deal by now, and I got my fair share of evals and mandatory sessions even back when I was just a regular S.H.I.E.L.D. asset. So I know full well what your problem with them probably is, and I think it’s bullshit. The textbooks can say whatever the fuck they want about not complicating your support system or whatever, but I can tell you…” Clint heaved a few breaths, wild-eyed, and Bucky had to wonder how he’d ever thought this man the least bit silly. Barton had the sort of loyalty that went deeper than most people had depths. And he wasn’t afraid to voice his opinion when he thought something was threatening the people he’d given that loyalty to. “I can tell you,” he continued, clearly forcing himself to calm down somewhat, “that when you’ve been forced into doing something horrible, something _unthinkable_ , you need what they’ve got. You need to know that somebody loves you even though you’re sure you’re a worthless piece of shit who deserves to die. And it’s messy and it’s painful, but it’s the only thing that stops you from drowning.”

            “Come on, Clint, I’ve been a soldier. I did some shit I wish I hadn’t…”

            “Don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking _dare_ compare following orders to what he went through. You follow orders because you can rationalize. On some level, the only way to do it is by convincing yourself it’s the right thing for you to be doing in that situation. He didn’t get to rationalize, Sam. When you’re under somebody else’s control, there’s no convincing yourself. You just do it and there isn’t anything insulating you from what you did. You. Don’t. Know.” He punctuated the last three words by jabbing a finger into Falcon’s chest with each pause.

            “Alright,” Sam agreed, nodding and wiping his palms on his jacket like they were sweating, “You’re right. I don’t know. I’ll apologize to Steve, just… Just calm down, Barton.”

            Natasha was there then, having slipped out from behind the bar without Bucky’s notice, drawing Clint away and murmuring to him quietly. “What the…” Bucky muttered.

            “I’m guessing Clint just chewed Sam out for upsetting Steve somehow?” Bruce asked, watching Bucky with interest, “Probably by saying something about you two getting together being a bad idea?”

            “How did you…?”

            Bruce sipped his drink. “I did more than my fair share of counseling when I was trying to get the Other Guy under control. Anger management, trauma remediation, just about everything else I could think of. When that didn’t work, I did my own studying on the subject. So I’ve got a fair notion of what our resident PTSD expert must think of whatever it is you and Steve have going on.”

            “And you think he’s right, I’m guessing?” Bucky asked tiredly.

            “I think that I’m in a relationship with a former Russian assassin whom I’ve nearly killed on several occasions and who will always put Barton before me because she might love me, but he’s home for her. I think that Tony Stark treated the woman he loves like a glorified doormat for fifteen years before waking up and realizing that she’s all that really matters to him, and yet she’s still effectively his babysitter. I think that Barton hid the fact that he had a wife and kids from us for years because he’s terrified of losing the one normal thing he’s ever had. I think that Thor is in love with Jane Foster despite the fact that he knows she’ll die millennia before him. I think Vision, our resident psychic android, has a crush on Wanda, our resident traumatized witch. I think that Scott and Hope hate going on missions together because they can’t bear to see one another in danger, but they’ll never stop because the only thing worse is feeling helpless. I think Deadpool is a whole can of crazy I don’t wanna open and Spider-Man has never _really_ gotten over his uncle’s death. I think Sam still feels like he doesn’t belong on the team and genuinely just views himself as Cap’s sidekick.” Bruce set down his glass. “Basically, what I’m telling you here, James, is that nobody here has any idea what they’re doing, romantically or otherwise. So there are a lot worse things you and Steve could be doing than falling in love.”

            “Wow,” Bucky breathed, impressed, “that was quite the speech. Thanks.”

            Bruce grimaced, staring into his drink again. “Don’t get used to it. You probably won’t get more than a couple more words out of me for the rest of the night.”

            Bucky smiled at that. “I’m gonna go find Steve.”

            “F.R.I.D.A.Y. can tell you where he is,” Bruce mumbled, not looking up.

           He had to dodge both Stark and Deadpool on his way out of the room, but Bucky made it into the hall quickly. “F.R.I.D.A.Y.” he said, looking up, “Where’s Steve?”

            “Captain Rogers is in the bathroom down this hallway, the fourth door on your right.”

            “You’re not gonna lock down the building or anything if I walk down the hall by myself, right?” he asked dubiously, “I know I don’t have clearance to be without one of the team, but—”

            She cut him off. “You do, actually. Miss Potts gave you the clearance she had planned on originally. You have unrestricted access to all common areas.”

            “Oh. Well, I guess that’s good then. Thanks, F.R.I.D.A.Y.” He trotted off down the hall, counting doors as he went.  “Steve?” he called, knocking on the one the AI had indicated. He heard retching and knocked harder. “What the hell? Steve, are you ok? What’s wrong?” His voice was sharp with alarm.

            “I’m fine,” Steve called back weakly, “Don’t worry, Buck. Just go back to the party.”

            “Yeah, you sound fine,” Bucky sighed, leaning against the door, “You wanna let me in anyway?”

            “I’m alright,” Steve tried to sound reassuring but it came out tenuous at best.

            “Uh-huh.” Bucky looked around, thinking. “F.R.I.D.A.Y.?”

            “Yes, James?”

            “Can you tell me what’s wrong with Steve?”

            “Captain Rogers seems to be in considerable distress.” He noted how she suddenly got formal when he asked. Like she was clamming up on him.

            “Alright,” Buck said, drawing a steadying breath, “Can you open the door?”

            Steve tried to protest. “Don’t, F.R.I.D.A.Y.”

            “I’m sorry, Captain,” she replied, “My protocols insist I put your health above your wishes.” The door clicked and Bucky pushed it open, heart pounding.

            Steve was sitting on the tile next to the toilet, knees pulled up to his chest. He’d ditched the jacket and tie in the corner and he was shaking. “Stevie,” Bucky sighed, kneeling beside him, “You look like Hell.”

            “Thanks,” Steve said with a forced laugh. It sounded wretched.

            “Thought you didn’t get sick anymore.” Bucky smoothed his flesh hand over the blonde’s forehead, frowning when Steve shuddered at his touch. “What’s the matter?”

            “I’m not sick,” Steve mumbled, burying his face in his hands for a moment, “I just…” He looked up at Bucky, eyes slightly wild. “What if we’re doing the wrong thing?”

            “What?” Bucky asked, bewildered, “I figured you left ‘cause Wilson pissed you off. You…you _believed_ him?”

            “You don’t have all your memories back,” Steve said desperately, “There are gaps, you know there are. What if you’re just latching onto me because I’m familiar and I’m taking advantage because I’m lonely? Sam says—”

            “Sam says,” Bucky snorted, cutting him off, “I'm betting Bird-Brain had a lot to say.”

            “He’s not like that,” Steve protested, “He’s a good guy, Bucky. He trusted me when I said you were still in there, back in DC. I don’t know what would’ve happened if he hadn’t done that.”

            “So he’s a good guy,” Bucky muttered, “Doesn’t mean he knows jack shit.”

            “He’s a good _friend_ ,” Steve corrected, “And he’s done this kind of thing before.”

            Bucky scoffed. “Worked with a lot of amnesiac ex-Hydra assassins, has he?”

            Steve frowned thoughtfully. “He said something once. I think it must be one of those things he uses in his support groups. ‘Trauma is trauma. It’s never the same, but it’s nothing new.’”

            Bucky stopped for a moment, considering. “And he thinks we’re making a mistake?”

            “He’s worried our feelings for one another are… What’d he call it? _Trauma bonding_.”

            Sighing, Bucky lowered himself to the floor, leaning against the wall next to Steve. “Foxhole brothers,” he acknowledged, “I went through plenty of that during the war. You could hate a guy’s guts one day, get shot at together the next, and suddenly you’re best friends. Some of ‘em stayed that way, some of ‘em you went back to hating after a while.”

            “How do we know this isn’t that?” Steve asked miserably, “We were already best friends. Maybe this is…I dunno, just the next stage of that.”

            Bucky laughed. “We know because, no matter how many times I shared a foxhole with a guy, I never wanted to sleep with him. Morita, Dugan, and I were like brothers long before you picked us up, but I never looked at either of them the way I look at you. I’ve been in love with you since I was _twelve_ , Steve.”

            “How can you be sure that’s not just your mind filling in memories with how you think you feel _now_?”

            “I know because I remember kissing Kitty DuChamp for the first time and wishing it was you instead. I know because I remember going out and meeting guys in back alleys and wishing it was you instead. You remember when we talked after your ma’s funeral?”

            Steve nodded. “Of course. With you ‘til the end of the line.”

            Bucky smiled. “Yeah. That’s what I _said_ , but all I wanted to _do_ was hold you, Stevie. I wanted to make it better for you, and I hated that I couldn’t do that. God, I was so frustrated I punched a wall when I got home. Damn near broke my hand.”

            Steve sighed a little, relaxing. “I’m sorry it took me so long to figure out how I felt.”

            “Yeah, but it’s not like we could really have been together. Not back then. I’d rather think you didn’t want me than just that I couldn’t have you because of some stupid laws.”

            Leaning against him, Steve hummed contentedly. “This’ll teach me to listen to Sam.”

            “Clint gave him hell for what he said,” Bucky admitted, lifting his arm and pulling Steve close.

            “Shit, really? He didn’t mean anything by it. Sam was just worried that I was accidentally taking advantage of you. And that got me to thinking and I…” He shuddered. “I’d rather die than hurt you like that, Buck. I’m not gonna compromise your chance at getting better just because I have feelings for you.”

            “That’s sweet. Pretty damned condescending, too. I’m a mess, sure, but I’m also an adult. You don’t get to make my decisions for me, and that includes the ones about whether or not I’m gonna get involved with you.” Steve opened and shut his mouth a few times, but Bucky kissed his cheek to forestall the words. “Don’t worry, doll. I’m not mad. I just wish you’d talked to me before you went and got all guilt-wracked like this.”

            “Yeah,” Steve said with a weak chuckle, “I’m not very good at that, am I?”

            “Come on,” Bucky encouraged, “We’d better get back to the party, otherwise they’re gonna think you’re _really_ taking advantage of me in here.”

            Steve, of course, blushed before letting Bucky help him up. Buck stood back to let him rinse his mouth and resettle his appearance, though he didn’t bother putting his tie back on. Taking that as his excuse, Barnes removed his own, shoving it into a pocket before reaching out to link his fingers with Steve’s.  “I love you. You get that, right?” he asked, pushing a few strands of blonde hair behind the other man’s ear.

            “I love you too. For real, no trauma bonding or wishful thinking or anything like that. And I love the guy you are _now_ , not just who you were before.”

            “We’ve just gotta stop winding up on bathroom floors,” Bucky snorted, kissing him quickly before tugging his lover back out into the hallway.

            They made their way back slowly, holding hands. Steve found himself suddenly unable to care what any of his teammates thought. Stark could tease and Sam could disapprove all either of them might want, but he was in love with Bucky and they could fucking deal with that. The brunet was just enjoying the feeling of being allowed to show how he felt in public for the first time, just holding Steve’s hand like a couple of stupid school kids. They were both too wrapped up in those thoughts to notice anything much until the shout from Deadpool at their entrance. “Oh my God! Are they… _They’re holding hands!_ Coulson owes me fifty bucks!”

            Bucky barely had the chance to register the madman’s words and the shocked look on Steve’s face before Clint had the Merc pinned against a wall by the throat, Natasha, Thor, and Stark all gathered around with equally furious expressions. “Say that again!” the archer spat into the Merc’s masked face, “Say that the fucking name again, Wade!”

            “Does he mean…” Bucky looked up at Steve, “Is he talking about _Phil_ Coulson?”

            Those shocked blue eyes turned to him then, widening. “Buck, how do you know about Coulson?”

 


End file.
